Dead With The Wind

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?”

Bugg thought about it a moment, then shrugged. “Maybe. I reckon we’ll have to give it some thought. What I want to know, though, is why would someone kill her?”

“That, Officer Bugg, is your job to find out.” An’gel smiled tiredly, suddenly exhausted by the effort of talking with the policemen and overwhelmed by the chaos of Sondra’s room. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go check on my sister, who is looking after little Tippy.” She turned and walked down the hall and pretended not to hear a rude comment from Bugg about nosy old biddies.