Dead with the Wind Read online

  “You sure have,” Dickce said. “We hate to see you and your family in such a terrible state. Is there anything we can do?”

  “Thank you both,” Mireille said. “Your support means a lot. I can’t quite believe myself that I have finally spoken up to say ‘enough is enough.’” She sighed heavily. “I guess I don’t want to spend whatever time I have left dealing with all this drama. Sometimes it’s like living in the middle of a soap opera, and I’m weary from trying to keep things calm and stable around here.”

  An’gel felt a mild chill at the words whatever time I have left. Was that simply an expression, or did it have a deeper meaning in Mireille’s case?

  She decided she might as well ask. If she didn’t, Dickce would. Her sister was too nosy sometimes.

  “Mireille, are there any health problems you haven’t told us about?” she asked.

  Mireille gave a faint smile. “My heart isn’t in the best shape, I’m afraid. My doctor says I’m good for a few more years, though.”

  “Oh, my dear,” Dickce said, and An’gel could see her sister’s eyes welling with tears. She had to blink back a few herself. She didn’t want to distress her cousin by breaking down, however.

  “Then you certainly deserve to rid yourself of whatever stress you can.” An’gel spoke in what she hoped was a firm, reassuring tone. “Is Jacqueline aware of this?”

  “No,” Mireille said. “I’d rather you didn’t tell her. She’s going to have enough to deal with, because I refuse to deal with my granddaughter anymore.”

  “I should think not,” Dickce said.

  “I’m so happy you’re here.” Mireille glanced at each of them in turn. “I don’t feel quite so alone now.”

  An’gel’s eyes stung. She felt such pity for her cousin, to have this kind of stress in her life. She should be able to enjoy her last years in calm and quiet. An’gel would happily have taken Sondra over her knees right then and given her a sound spanking for causing her grandmother so much grief.

  They were startled by a loud cry from outside the dining room.

  “Sondra, no! What are you doing?” Jacqueline was yelling.

  An’gel and Dickce rushed into the hall, and Mireille was a few steps behind them. An’gel stared in shock at Sondra, on the second-floor landing, as the girl threw scraps of white cloth over the rails to the first floor.

  With a dull ache in her heart, An’gel realized that the source of the scraps was Mireille’s grandmother’s lovely wedding gown. Sondra had cut or ripped it to shreds.

  She heard Mireille gasp and cry out “No!” As she turned, Mireille fainted and hit the floor.

  CHAPTER 10

  Jacqueline took one look at her mother on the floor near the stairs and started yelling for the housekeeper. “Estelle, hurry! Call 911! Maman has fainted.” She and Dickce knelt beside the stricken woman to render aid.

  Estelle scurried in from the back of the house where the kitchen lay, cell phone in hand. She was talking to someone and urging speed.

  An’gel, once she felt certain everything that could be done for her cousin at the moment was being done, charged up the stairs as quickly as she could to confront the source of Mireille’s great distress.

  Huffing slightly as she reached the second-floor landing, An’gel paused a moment to catch her breath. A few feet away Sondra leant against the railing, staring down at the scene below. From what An’gel could see, there was not a sign of remorse or concern on the girl’s face. At that moment An’gel felt a rage come over her, and it was all she could do not to go and pick the girl up and throw her over the railing, just as Sondra had tossed the remnants of the antique bridal gown. An’gel mastered the impulse, however, and took several steps toward Sondra.

  “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

  Sondra ignored her, and An’gel’s temper flared even higher. She grabbed the girl’s shoulder and shook her, hard.

  “Don’t you dare ignore me, young woman. You look at me when I talk to you.”

  Sondra stared at An’gel, sullen and hate-filled. An’gel didn’t flinch, however, and put all the loathing she felt for this sad excuse for a human being into her gaze and into her tone when she spoke.

  “Your grandmother could be lying down there dying at this moment. Is that what you wanted?”

  “It’s all her fault anyway.” Sondra spit the words out. Her tone grew shriller the longer she spoke. “Everybody’s always trying to make me do things I don’t want to do. She cares more about that awful woman than she ever cared about me. She even tried to make me wear that disgusting dress when I told her I didn’t want to. She doesn’t want me to get married at all. She made Uncle Rich try to talk me out of it; I know she did. Telling me I shouldn’t get married. I hate her; I hate every single one of them. None of them care about me or what I want.”

  An’gel took a step back from the girl as she raved on, suddenly afraid and all too aware of the difference in their ages. Sondra was decades younger and far stronger than she, and the girl was in such a state there was no telling whom she might attack.

  With great relief An’gel heard the sound of a siren rapidly approaching. If she could manage to keep Sondra at bay until the EMTs arrived, she would be fine. The girl still looked like she wanted to claw An’gel’s eyes out.

  Sondra turned away and ran up the stairs to the third floor, where her bedroom lay. Seconds later An’gel heard a door open and then slam shut. She trembled and grasped the banister rail for support.

  The front door burst open and the EMTs came in. They went to work on Mireille immediately while Jacqueline and Estelle both tried to explain what had happened. A tall, sun-bronzed young man dealt with them patiently as An’gel made her way slowly down the stairs. Dickce met her, and they moved well out of the way but within sight of all the activity.

  “How is she?” An’gel asked.

  Dickce shook her head. “Not good. I think she had a heart attack. I also think she hit her head pretty hard when she fell.”

  An’gel closed her eyes and prayed for her cousin. She felt Dickce grasp her hand. When she finished her prayer, An’gel opened her eyes to find her sister regarding her with evident concern. “What about you? You’re pale and shaky,” Dickce said. “I wasn’t paying attention to what went on up there with Sondra, but I did hear her yelling at you.”

  An’gel felt all at once that she had to sit down and told Dickce so. Dickce led her into the front parlor, where they both seated themselves on the sofa. Quickly An’gel told her sister the gist of her conversation with Sondra.

  “The girl is a psychopath,” Dickce said. “Or is it sociopath? Either way, she’s dangerous.” She shuddered.

  An’gel couldn’t disagree. The way that Sondra had behaved, the way she had looked at An’gel, didn’t seem human.

  “Would you like me to get you some brandy?” Dickce asked. “I wouldn’t mind a little shot myself, to be honest.”

  An’gel nodded. “Sounds good to me.”

  Dickce got up and went over to the liquor supply, housed discreetly in an antique cabinet in the corner. She came back soon with two small shot glasses of brandy, and the sisters downed them quickly.

  An’gel felt the familiar warmth begin to spread, and she thanked Dickce. A good “stiffener,” as one of their English friends called it, was exactly what she needed.

  Jacqueline hurried into the room then, and An’gel noticed that she had been crying.

  “How is your mother?” An’gel asked.

  “They think she might have had a heart attack,” Jacqueline said, her face drawn and ashen. “They’re taking her to the hospital. I’m going right behind them. I was wondering if one of you would mind coming with me?”

  Dickce rose from the sofa. “I’ll go with you, dear. An’gel should stay here, I think. She had a bit of a shock.”

  “I’m sorry if Sond
ra upset you,” Jacqueline said. “She’s not in her right mind. I don’t know what possessed her to do such a thing.”

  An’gel could have enlightened her goddaughter on the subject of Sondra but felt it would be kinder not to. There was something seriously wrong with the girl, but Jacqueline had enough on her plate at the moment.

  “You go on to the hospital and don’t worry about anything here,” An’gel said. “I’m sure Estelle and I can take care of things.”

  Jacqueline nodded. “I know you can.” She started to turn away. “Oh, dear, I forgot. Rich Thurston is due here any minute. He was planning to talk to Sondra, but now certainly isn’t a good time. Please explain to him and ask him not to talk to her just now.”

  “All right,” An’gel said.

  Jacqueline barely paused for the response. She hurried out, and Dickce followed her a little more slowly.

  “Be careful,” she said. “Stay away from Sondra unless there’s someone else with you.” With that, she disappeared through the doorway.

  Moments later An’gel heard the front door open and close, and then silence. The ambulance had already departed with Mireille, and the siren had faded away in the distance. An’gel sat there, allowing time to collect herself before she had to go in search of Estelle. She was surprised the housekeeper hadn’t insisted on going to the hospital with Jacqueline, but perhaps Jacqueline hadn’t given her a choice.

  A mighty crash of thunder startled An’gel, and she glanced toward the windows that faced the front lawn. The day had grown even darker, and An’gel heard the rain splatter hard against the house. She uttered another quick prayer for the safety of everyone on the wet roads. She was getting up to go in search of Estelle when she heard the doorbell ring.

  There was no sign of the housekeeper when An’gel walked into the hall. She went to the door and opened it to find Richmond Thurston, Mireille’s lawyer, on the verandah.

  “Do come in, Mr. Thurston.” An’gel waved him in.

  “Thank you, Miss Ducote.” Thurston propped his dripping umbrella by the door on the verandah and stepped inside. “Terrible storm out there right now. I just about made it to the porch when the heavens opened up.”

  “Yes, it certainly is a downpour.” An’gel started when the thunder crashed again. Her nerves were enough on edge already without the added stress of a violent storm.

  “I trust you’re keeping well, despite the weather.” Thurston smiled, and An’gel felt the pull of the man’s charm. He had a way of looking at one that made the person feel like she had the lawyer’s complete attention.

  “As well as can be expected, under the circumstances,” An’gel said. “Won’t you come into the parlor, Mr. Thurston? I’m afraid I have something to tell you, something upsetting.”

  “Of course, dear lady,” he said as he followed her. “What is wrong?”

  An’gel waited until they were seated in the parlor before she told him about Mireille. His face darkened as she explained the reason for her cousin’s sudden collapse.

  “I swear I’d like to horsewhip that girl,” he said with such fervor that An’gel had no trouble believing he would actually do it, given the opportunity. “I’ve never in my life known anyone so completely self-absorbed.”

  Before An’gel could reply, the lawyer stood. “Where is she? I’m going to talk to her.”

  An’gel thought about protesting but realized that would likely prove futile. “In her bedroom most likely. What are you going to say to her?”

  “The first thing I’m going to tell her,” the lawyer said, “is that the wedding will have to be postponed. She can’t get married while her grandmother is in the hospital.” He expelled an angry breath. “Girl has no business getting married anyway, at least not to a congenital idiot like Lance Perigord. The boy’s as queer as the proverbial three-dollar bill, for one thing. He should be stopped, for his own protection, if nothing else. Sondra will destroy anyone she marries.”

  The lawyer didn’t wait for a response from An’gel. He strode out of the room, his face again red with anger. An’gel worried for a moment that he might strike Sondra, but then decided she didn’t have the energy to involve herself any further. At the moment she felt every one of her eighty-four years, and she leaned wearily back on the sofa.

  Her thoughts quickly turned to Mireille. In light of what Mireille had told them earlier, not long before the frightening incident that sent her to the hospital, An’gel fretted that her cousin would not survive. With her heart already in bad shape, the bad shock Mireille had sustained might be more than her heart could bear. An’gel said another quiet prayer for Mireille’s recovery.

  She wondered how long it would be before Dickce or Jacqueline called to give an update on Mireille’s condition. She realized then that she didn’t have her cell phone with her.

  Where had she left her handbag? She thought hard for a moment. In the dining room, she decided. She got up and went across the hall to the dining room. She found her handbag on the floor beside the chair where she had eaten. She noticed that someone, either Estelle or Jackson, had cleared everything away.

  An’gel pulled her phone from the bag and checked to see whether she had missed a call.

  No calls. She debated whether to call Benjy to apprise him of the morning’s events but decided not to burden him with the news. There would be time enough later to fill him in. Besides, there was nothing he could do. Nothing she could do either, other than wait.

  Replacing the phone in her handbag, An’gel headed to the back of the house to the kitchen. As she neared it, she heard voices through the half-open door. When she walked in, she caught the tail end of a remark from Estelle, who was speaking to the butler.

  “. . . rat poison in her food.”

  CHAPTER 11

  “Estelle, what are you talking about? Rat poison in whose food?”

  The housekeeper flushed as she turned to face An’gel. Her tone was defiant when she replied. “Sondra’s food, that’s who. I figure we’d all be better off if someone put rat poison in her food. That’s what I was telling Jackson when you came in.”

  The elderly butler nodded. “Yes, Miss An’gel, that’s what it was. Just talk. Estelle was telling me what happened to Miss Mireille and what Miss Sondra done to cause it.”

  “As long as it stays talk, then we’re fine.” An’gel spoke sternly. “I know we’re all furious with Sondra, but let’s not get carried away.”

  Estelle didn’t respond, but Jackson nodded and said, “Yes’m.” He cleared his throat. “Have you heard anything from the hospital yet?”

  “No, not yet,” An’gel replied. “I came in here hoping for some coffee or some hot tea, if it’s not too much trouble.”

  Estelle muttered something An’gel couldn’t hear, but the butler looked startled. The housekeeper brushed past him, headed for the stove. She picked up a kettle, took it to the sink, rinsed it, then filled it with water. “Tea’ll be ready in a minute.”

  “Miss An’gel, why don’t you go back to the parlor, and I’ll bring your tea soon as it’s ready.” Jackson moved forward as if to escort An’gel from the room.

  “That’s fine, thank you. Before I forget, Mr. Thurston is here. He is upstairs with Sondra at the moment.” An’gel turned to leave but paused for one more remark. “If either of you hears from Jacqueline, please let me know. I’ll do the same if my sister calls me.”

  Estelle nodded in her direction, and Jackson assured her he would bring her any news immediately. An’gel departed the kitchen and made her way back to the front parlor.

  Thunder rattled the windows every so often, and An’gel worried that the storm seemed to be hanging over them. At this rate, she thought, the roads might start flooding.

  Seated once again on the sofa in the front parlor, she pulled out her phone. She decided she would call Benjy to assure herself that he and the animals were safe
. To her annoyance, she had no reception on her phone, thanks to the weather. Disgusted, she dropped her phone back in her purse. She eyed the telephone extension on a nearby table, but she hated talking on a landline during a storm. She was concerned about Benjy, Peanut, and Endora, but she didn’t want to risk either Benjy or herself getting electrocuted.

  An’gel felt restless. As long as the storm raged, they might not get any word from the hospital, and she fretted over Mireille’s condition. She was also curious about the conversation taking place upstairs between Thurston and Sondra. Perhaps she ought to go up and check after all.

  Before she could suit action to thought, Jackson entered the parlor bearing a tray with her tea. He set the tray on the coffee table in front of the sofa.

  “Thank you, Jackson,” An’gel said. “I’ll pour for myself.”

  “Yes’m.” Jackson hesitated for a moment. “Miss An’gel, do you think Miss Mireille’s going to be all right? I just can’t imagine this house without her.”

  An’gel felt a lump in her throat. “I sure hope so, but only the good Lord knows. I’ve been praying that she’ll come back to us and be fine.”

  “Me, too,” the butler said. “I’ve known Miss Mireille since she was a little bitty girl, and me just a boy myself.” He sighed. “I’m going to pray hard as I can she’ll be healed.”

  “That’s the best possible thing we can do right now,” An’gel said.

  Jackson nodded, and An’gel watched him depart, his shoulders slumped. She felt a fresh wave of anger toward Sondra for all the harm and distress she had caused. Then she realized that she had to calm herself or her blood pressure would remain sky-high, and that wouldn’t do. She poured herself a cup of tea, added a little cream and sugar, and stirred.

  The warm liquid was a welcome balm for her frazzled nerves. As she sipped her tea, she listened for the sound of footsteps on the stairs. She was curious to hear Thurston’s report on his conversation with Sondra. If he would share it with her, she thought. He might not want to talk about it.