Bless Her Dead Little Heart

CHAPTER 12

“What did you find?”

Dickce ignored An’gel’s imperious tone. “Come see for yourself.”

Kanesha reached the cart while An’gel was still rising from the sofa. “Show me, please,” she said, her tone firm.

Dickce pointed to the food tray. “Look under that.”

Kanesha squatted beside the cart and used her pen to lift the paper towel Dickce indicated. Beneath it was a plastic tube labeled Vaseline.

An’gel approached and peered over Kanesha’s shoulder. “Brazen,” she said.

“Imagine the nerve it took to keep that on your person and then somehow manage to drop it on the tray when nobody was looking.” Dickce shook her head. “It makes my blood run cold.”

Kanesha stood and pulled out her cell phone. She stepped away from the cart and punched in a number. “Bates, I’m in the parlor. Miss Dickce found something we need to bag, and I don’t have what I need.” She paused. “Right. Thanks.” She ended the call and put away her phone.

“I didn’t touch it,” Dickce said. “I left it the way I found it, except of course for moving the tray onto the cart.”

Kanesha nodded. “Yes, ma’am. About the paper towel. I don’t see any others here. Where do you think it came from?”

“There’s a roll in each of the bathrooms upstairs,” An’gel replied.

“In the cupboard under the sink,” Dickce added.

“Thank you, that’s helpful.” Kanesha thought for a moment. “Did either of you have a tube like that upstairs in your rooms? Or was there one in any of the guest rooms or bathrooms?”

“I have one of those little containers of it in my bathroom. You know, the kind with the lid?” Dickce said. “I don’t recall putting any in the guest areas.” She glanced at her sister. “Did you?”

An’gel shook her head. “To my knowledge there wasn’t any in the guest rooms. Like my sister, though, I have a container in my bathroom.”

“Thank you,” Kanesha said. She looked toward the door. “Ladies, if you don’t mind stepping back, Deputy Bates will take care of this now.”

Bates nodded at Dickce and An’gel as they moved away from the serving cart. “Evening, ladies.”

Dickce watched with great interest as Bates pulled on plastic gloves. He pulled out a pair of mid-sized tweezers and proceeded to put the tube and the paper towel in separate plastic evidence bags.

“Are you going to dust the cart for fingerprints?” Dickce hoped Bates would do it so she could watch. She felt guilty even thinking it, but it was a bit thrilling to be this close to an actual investigation.

“No, ma’am,” Bates said. “We wouldn’t gain any real helpful information, because probably every one of you touched the cart today. We will be testing the tube and the paper towel, of course, but they’ll have to go to the state crime lab.”

“Surely you didn’t think he was going to whip out his fingerprint kit and do it right here?” An’gel glared at Dickce. “You need to stop watching all those forensic shows on television. You’re getting positively morbid about such things.”

Well, someone is obviously tired and cranky, Dickce thought. An’gel always got this way when she wasn’t in control of a situation. Dickce once again had the urge to stick her tongue out at her sister but knew she would be embarrassed if either of the deputies saw her do it.

Instead she settled for a tart rejoinder. “What I watch is certainly more educational than those trashy reality shows about trashy people.”

An’gel drew back at that, and Dickce would have sworn for a moment that her sister started to blush. But decades of training asserted itself, and An’gel maintained her composure.

“Excuse me, ladies,” Kanesha said. “I think we are done here for the moment. I’ll just go across the hall to speak with your guests, and then we will be leaving. Except, of course, for the deputy, who will remain here until he can be relieved by an off-duty deputy.”

“Thank you,” An’gel said. “I know I will certainly rest easier tonight knowing that one of your men is on guard here.”

Kanesha nodded before she headed for the door. Bates hesitated a moment before he followed his boss, and in that moment, Dickce thought he winked at her.

She wanted to giggle. He was such an attractive man. Broad-shouldered with a trim waist, he had the chiseled face of a movie star. She had heard an interesting rumor about him and Stewart Delacorte recently. She wondered if it was true, and if it was, she was happy for Stewart because he deserved a nice man.

“If you’re done mooning over that deputy,” An’gel said, “let’s get this out to the kitchen and see about helping Clementine with dinner.” She grabbed the cart handles and started pushing.

This time Dickce did stick out her tongue—at her sister’s retreating back.

Maudine and Bernice were the first of the guests to appear at the dining room table. Dickce thought cynically there probably wasn’t much that would put Maudine off her food. The avid gleam in her eyes as Maudine surveyed the table told Dickce she was probably right. Dickce had to admit, however, that a table full of Clementine’s wonderful Southern cooking was a sight to gladden anyone’s eye. Anyone who isn’t a health nut, she amended.

An’gel invited them to sit, and moments later, Wade and Junior came in. They took chairs opposite the women. An’gel sat at the head of the table, her usual place, while Dickce decided for once to sit at the foot, instead of at An’gel’s right. Three places remained unclaimed.

Dickce wondered whether An’gel would insist on the usual saying of grace before anyone was allowed to eat. Then she noticed that Maudine and Wade were already helping themselves to the food. Dickce caught An’gel’s eye and shrugged. She could tell her sister wasn’t pleased, but given their experiences with these people so far, she thought An’gel shouldn’t be surprised by the lack of manners at the dinner table.

Juanita entered the dining room and went straight to An’gel. “Miss Ducote, Grandmother asked me to express her regrets, but she doesn’t feel well and really isn’t up to sitting down to dinner. Would it be okay if I take a plate up to her?”

“Of course, my dear.” An’gel actually looked relieved, Dickce thought. She certainly was, because she hadn’t relished the idea of listening to Rosabelle carry on over the dinner table. Everyone else seemed relieved as well, Dickce would have been willing to bet.

Juanita prepared a plate of chicken and vegetables for her grandmother while An’gel went to find a bed tray for her.

“Thank you,” the young woman said when An’gel returned. “I’ll take this up and be back down shortly for my own dinner.”

Dickce had picked up her fork, ready to eat, when she realized there was still one person unaccounted for. Benjy was missing. She hesitated but decided after brief thought that he would turn up soon. A boy his age was always hungry, and he wouldn’t miss a meal.

Ten minutes later, when Benjy still hadn’t turned up, Dickce began to worry. There was no conversation at the table, other than the “would you pass the corn” variety. Juanita had rejoined them, but no one else seemed to notice that Benjy wasn’t there.

“Mr. Pittman,” Dickce said, “do you know why Benjy hasn’t come to dinner?”

Junior looked up from his plate with a frown. “Oh, he said he wasn’t hungry. I tried to get him to come, but he wouldn’t.” He returned his attention to his food.

Dickce glanced at her sister. She could tell An’gel was concerned, too. Dickce decided that she would go check on Benjy. She hadn’t meant to forget about him, but until now there hadn’t been a chance to talk to him.

“Excuse me,” Dickce said as she pushed back her chair and stood.

An’gel nodded, as if giving permission for her to leave the table, and Dickce shrugged. She was going to check on that young man whether An’gel approved or not.

The kitchen was empty. Clementine had gone home, and An’gel had insisted that Diesel be put upstairs in her bedroom during dinner. Dickce knew the cat was not happy being isolated like that, but she supposed An’gel was right. They weren’t used to having an animal begging for food while they ate, and An’gel certainly wouldn’t allow it with guests at the table.

The evening sun hung low in the sky as Dickce stepped outside. The heat and humidity hadn’t abated with the approach of darkness, and Dickce was glowing with perspiration by the time she reached the door to the garage apartment.

She opened the door and stepped inside. “Benjy, is it okay for me to come up? It’s Dickce Ducote.”

For a moment she thought the apartment must be empty, then she heard a familiar chirping.

What on earth is Diesel doing here? she thought, startled.

Benjy appeared at the head of the stairs with the cat beside him. “Sure, you can come up here if you want to.” He turned and moved away, but Diesel remained where he was.

“How did you get here, you rascal?” Dickce tapped the cat on the head when she reached him.

“I heard something scratching at the door downstairs a little while ago,” Benjy said, his tone defensive. “When I went down there, I found him trying to pull the door open. He had one paw in the crack, but that door kinda sticks, and he couldn’t budge it.”

Dickce had to laugh at the mental image. “Charlie—that’s his owner, Charlie Harris—told us Diesel could open doors on his own, but I don’t think I really believed him until now. He wouldn’t have had much trouble getting out of An’gel’s room, or out the back door, I guess, because those doors are in better shape.”

Diesel warbled several times, as if he knew he was being discussed. Benjy smiled slightly as he indicated a chair. “He sure is one smart cat. Please sit.”

Dickce noted that Benjy waited until she was seated before he plopped on the couch across from her. Diesel joined him, his head butting the young man’s upper arm. Benjy put his arm around the cat and hugged him close. Diesel started purring.

“I’m glad he found his way to you,” Dickce said. “He always seems to know when someone needs a little comfort.”

“I’m okay,” Benjy muttered and ducked his head.

Dickce waited a moment, but he didn’t continue. “I was a little concerned when you didn’t join us for dinner. I know you must be terribly upset by what’s happened, but you need to keep up your strength. Clementine is a wonderful cook, and hot food will help you feel better.”

“Miss Clementine gave me some food.” Benjy pointed toward the table across the room. “I just didn’t feel like being in the same room with the Wart and his family.”

Dickce glanced over at the table. She could see a plate, cutlery, napkin, and glass. Plate and glass were empty. Knowing Clementine, that plate had been heaped with food. Unless Benjy had fed most of it to Diesel—and she sincerely hoped he hadn’t, because the cat would undoubtedly get sick—he had eaten well.

Dickce wasn’t quite sure what to say next. Benjy was obviously distressed, but he was a stranger, and she didn’t know what would help him the most. Instead, she asked him the first thing that popped into her head.

“Benjy, how old are you?”

He glanced up, obviously startled. “I was nineteen in June. What’s that got to do with anything?”

“I just wondered,” Dickce said. She had figured his age correctly, but she thought he sometimes seemed young for nineteen. “I’m sorry about your mother.”

To her dismay, he burst into tears. Diesel warbled anxiously, and for a moment Dickce didn’t know what to do. Then she got up from her chair and sat on the sofa by Benjy and pulled him into her arms. He sobbed on her shoulder while she held him and Diesel rubbed his head against the boy’s side.