Dying for Dinner Rolls (4 page)

José checked Lucy’s vital signs. “She’s dead.”

I knelt down and held Lucy’s cool hand. My heart raced, and my stomach flipped. Had the crossword killer struck again? No. Lucy said that the paper was already in the box before she’d purchased it. It couldn’t be the same killer, could it?

Grabbing a kitchen towel, José picked up a folded piece of paper. “There’s a note.”

“What does it say?” Annie Mae asked.

José opened the white paper. “One side is from someone named Ina Nesmith. That’s her neighbor you mentioned, isn’t it, Cat?”

I nodded.

José continued. “It says ‘Back off, Lucy, or else. —Ina.’ The other side, written in what looks like pink lipstick, reads ‘It’s over. Lucy.’” José put the note back on the floor where he found it. “This appears to be a possible suicide note. But then again, Ina’s note could be construed as a threat. Either way, no one touch anything. This is now a crime scene.”

“Why would she kill herself? She was happier than a pig in mud.” Bezu sat down in a chair as she pressed her hand to her chest.

“Hell if I know.” Annie Mae pulled a chair next to Bezu at the kitchen table. She reached over and patted Bezu’s hand.

“I’m calling my precinct right now.” José held his phone to his head.

I paced the floor as though my legs couldn’t stand still. Filling the room with floral scent, so light and alive, was a vase of fresh-cut flowers sitting in the middle of the kitchen table.

“Lucy had been gone less than two shakes of a lamb’s tail. How could this happen?” Bezu rocked herself.

José held a hand up. “Everyone sit tight. Help is on the way.”

I wiped tears with the back of my hand. My taste buds wretched with the taste of bile. I tensed with raw nerves as a chill ran down my spine. And yet, I felt numb.

A short while later, two squad cars and an ambulance arrived. For the next few hours, the house buzzed with activity. Police forensics and EMTs began doing their work. José talked with them as they took pictures, dusted for prints, secured the area, filled out reports, walked through the house, and strung yellow tape. We were all interviewed as witnesses. Bezu, Annie Mae, and I sobbed the whole time.

After I composed myself, I walked to José just as a detective approached him.

The detective pointed a thick finger at José. “This is my case. Back off.”

“Listen here, Ray. The vic is my friend. It’s not suicide.” José shook his head. “I’d just seen her right before she left to grab dinner rolls. She was fine. And what about the note left? You need to interview Ina Nesmith.”

“Don’t tell me how to do my job.” Ray stood face-to-face with José and poked him in the chest. Ray stood an inch shorter than José but had a stout, thick build and a blond crew cut. “This is my case.”

José’s neck flushed as he leaned toward him. “Then do this by the book. No shortcuts.”

“You’re not my boss. Scarcely my peer.” Officer Ray didn’t budge. “A suicide note, a knife in the vic’s hand. I think this case will be closed by the time the ink dries on the report.”

José stayed face-to-face with Ray. “You have a problem with me, fine. But keep your beef with me out of this case.”

Ray chortled. “The dying for dinner rolls case is cut-and-dry. Case closed.”

José leaned in, his hands formed in fists. His neck veins bulged.

Ray took a step back. “One day, I’ll have proof of who you are, and your ass will be fired.”

“If you have something on me, then do something about it. If not, get off my back.” José narrowed his eyes.

“I don’t have anything concrete now. But I will. There is something you’re doing that is a disgrace to the department, and when I find out, I’ll expose you.” Ray clenched his fist.

“You’re out of line. You have nothing on me, because I’ve done nothing wrong. You hate me, and that’s fine. But don’t let that obstruct this investigation.” José jutted his chin. “If you’re still pissed I won at poker, then I can give your money back if that’ll make you stop bitching.”

“Shove it.” Ray turned and shouted over his shoulder. “All of you need to get out of the house now.”

“Jackass,” José said under his breath as we exited the house.

We made our way out to the front yard.

“What about Lucy’s husband?” Bezu asked. “Did anyone call him?”

“He’s been notified and is on his way now,” José said.

“I can’t believe this just happened,” I said.

“I feel frozen, like I can’t think right,” Annie Mae added.

“Me, too,” Bezu said.

“It’s because you all are in shock. It’s difficult to process right away.” José put on his dark, aviator sunglasses.

We stood in silence on Lucy’s front lawn. It was dusk. The smell of fresh-cut grass permeated the air. A slight breeze moved branches of the oak tree above us. The air hung heavy with the remnants of the humid, hot day.

Each of us seemed lost in our own thoughts. I kept going over the last few times that I’d seen Lucy. Her energy, her talkative nature.

Hearing footsteps, I turned toward the front door.

A jet-black body bag on a stretcher was being carried out by two EMTs.

My gut retched, and my legs felt wobbly.

“Why would she do this?” Annie Mae sniffed then blew her nose into a tissue.

Tears stung my eyes. “She wouldn’t. My gut is saying that someone took Lucy’s life.”

“That’s messed up.” Annie Mae thumped her fist in the air.

I bit my lip. “This may be the same person who shot my dad. Lucy had found a crossword puzzle like the one found by my dad that night. Although, she did say that it had already been in the box before she bought it.”

“You think there’s something there?” Annie Mae asked me.

“Y’all are making me nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs, talking about murder and a killer. No. No.” Bezu pointed to her head. “She must’ve had some serious issues we didn’t know about.”

“Mental ones? I don’t think so. She told us everything. Hell, half the time, I didn’t want to hear every little detail of her personal business, but that’s what she was like. So why wouldn’t she have told us she was depressed? Enough to do this?” Annie Mae pantomimed with a knife at her wrists.

“She didn’t.” I took a deep breath. “That suicide note was too brief for Lucy. Plus she’d burnt her right hand and told me it was hard to grip things. So the whole knife thing doesn’t sit right with me. And the threatening note from her neighbor is suspect, too. And did you notice that the lipstick on the note was pink, not Lucy’s signature red color?”

“Those are some great observations.” Annie Mae cocked her head as she looked at me. “So you’re still thinking—”

“Someone killed her.” I glanced at the half-dozen potted flower arrangements alongside the front porch. There was water on the ground near them. “Everything in her house is so neat and in order. And look at how beautiful she keeps the place.”

“And?” Annie Mae raised an eyebrow.

“The cat has food in his dish. These plants are freshly watered. This is all normal routine-type stuff. Not a person on the edge about to kill herself, right?” A tear streaked down my cheek. “She loved her cat, actually all animals. For the past fifteen years, she volunteered at the Humane Society. She would never do this, desert her cat. It was her child.”

José held up a finger. “Except I’ve worked on many suicide cases. It’s eerie how they get things in order just before they end their lives. So, it seems that all outward evidence indicates suicide. But I agree she wasn’t the type. She had lots of friends and hobbies and was very involved in her church. This doesn’t sit right with me, either.”

“Her poor husband. Bless his heart. He’s got a tough row to hoe.” Bezu dabbed her eyes.

“I’m not even going to ask what you just said. But as for Bert, I bet he killed her. It’s usually the spouse that knocks off the other spouse.” Annie Mae waved her hands. “Trust me, if Ernie’s diet of Krispy Kreme hadn’t killed him, I would’ve.”

“You’re all talk. You adored Ernie. If you ask me, he was a saint for putting up with you.” José winked at Annie Mae.

Annie Mae tilted her head and grinned. “What fool thing are you talking about? My Ernie was the most stubborn man who ever walked the earth. Still, it seems that when a wife is killed, the husband did it.”

“Not this time. I spoke to Lucy’s husband. He’s been on a fishing trip in North Carolina with three of his friends,” José said. “So he has an airtight alibi.”

Bezu wrung her delicate hands. “Why are we even discussing this? The law enforcement of this fine city will take care of this.”

“Actually, ladies, we’ve been so overworked, even with a couple new hires, we are still understaffed. I’ve also been informed that this case will be wrapped up as suicide and closed before the end of the day.” José took off his sunglasses and wiped his brow.

“My tax dollars hard at work.” Annie Mae rolled her eyes.

“Lord Almighty. Poor Lucy.” Bezu threw her shoulders back and patted her blonde hair, as if fixing herself up.

“Listen. There’s something very wrong here, and we need to find out what.” I choked on the words. “There may be a connection to my father’s death.”

“Cat, don’t you have too much going on, taking care of your children, to involve yourself in what is clearly police business and not ours?” Bezu asked.

“Cat’s making some good points. I have to agree with her. Lucy’s death doesn’t feel right with me, either. And maybe José is right, which, by the way, would be a first.” Annie Mae put on a half grin and turned to José.

“If it wasn’t suicide, which it seems most of us agree it wasn’t, then we have a much bigger issue, don’t we?” I looked at each of them one by one. The words caught in my throat as my eyes teared up again. “Who killed Lucy?”

One week later

José plopped in a chair. “Lucy’s case has been closed as a suicide. The official investigation said she slit her left wrist with a butcher knife, lost a lot of blood, then fell and hit her head against the wall. There was a contusion on the back of her head.”

We sat around Bezu’s dining room table, having called together a Chubby Chicks Club meeting. This was the first time we’d seen each other since we’d attended Lucy’s wake and funeral last week.

“Well, then, I think we forget any thoughts about it being anything other than what the police said it was.” Bezu set a pitcher of iced tea on the table next to a large, red ceramic pot of shrimp jambalaya.

“Bezu, I disagree. I still think someone killed her.” I unfolded the cream linen and lace napkin and set it on my lap. “As her friends, it’s our duty to find out who did it. It’s a possibility that her death may be connected to my dad’s.”

“Do you really think so?” Annie Mae asked.

“Maybe. Maybe not.” I fought back a tear. “Regardless, Lucy is dead, and how it happened is suspicious. Like the mystery around my dad’s murder.”

“I’m with Cat.” José began to scoop out jambalaya onto a plate. “It doesn’t ring true with me, either. But my hands are tied. It’s not my case.”

“Why don’t we do the investigation?” I took the plate José handed me.

“No.” Bezu straightened her back.

“Maybe we should just let it go. Let Lucy rest in peace. Poor soul.” Annie Mae made a sign of the cross. “Sorry, I still have leftover habits from twelve years of Catholic school. Praise the Lord. Let’s eat.”

“Now someone here is finally talking sense.” Bezu took her fork. “José, thank you for serving. Now, why don’t we chat about something more pleasant?”

“Annie Mae, I’m surprised you don’t want to investigate it,” I said.

“I’m educated in theater and the arts, not detective work.” Annie Mae put a forkful of food into her mouth. “Plus, the police said it was suicide. And they’re professionals. So maybe we should just agree with their expertise.”

“Do you think they’re right?” I asked.

Annie Mae nodded and then shrugged her shoulders.

I straightened my back. “I bet they didn’t even check the other side of the note, where Ina threatened Lucy. Or what about the lipstick on the note? That was not Lucy’s color. And I also think that Bert had a mistress. There are people who may’ve wanted to harm Lucy. And I bet none of those leads were explored.”

“They were not.” José wiped his mouth with a napkin.

“So, you see, we need to, at the very least, examine possible suspects.” I looked around at each of them. “Who’s with me?”

Annie Mae chewed her food then swallowed.

Bezu looked down at the table.

“We need to find out how she died because she was our friend. And we are the only ones who can make this right.” I slapped my hand on the table, hoping to get someone to react. It worked at the dinner table when my kids argued and caused a ruckus.

José laid the serving spoon on a plate. “I say we don’t do anything.”

“That’s a good idea,” Annie Mae said. “Let’s leave it alone.”

“Annie, that is a fine idea,” José winked at Annie Mae.

“I say we don’t leave it alone.” I cut my eyes to José.

The spicy smell of the jambalaya lingered in the air.

José shook his head and looked away from me.

“Let’s listen to José and drop it.” Bezu glared at me. “If you can’t run with the big dogs, stay under the porch.”

“What the heck? Bezu, please translate that from Southern to English,” Annie Mae said to Bezu.

“We don’t have the law enforcement know-how, so we should stay out of any type of investigation.” Bezu held Annie Mae’s hand. “Can’t we just talk about the festival next week?”

“While a dear friend of ours is dead? I can’t think of anything else, festivals or otherwise.” I pushed my plate away from me. “C’mon. The note from Ina, the pink lipstick, Lucy’s happy disposition. There is so much that is not clear-cut. If any one of you can say for one hundred percent sure that it was suicide, then fine, you’re out. But if you even have the slightest doubt, then it’s your duty to find what really happened. We owe that to her.”

José put his hands in the air, as if saying he gave up.

Bezu took in a deep breath.

Annie Mae held her thumb and index finger a short distance apart. “I have a smidgen of doubt. So it wouldn’t hurt to look into it just a little. Plus, I do have some free time now.”

“Great, Annie Mae. I’m glad that at least someone else besides me can see that we need to do something,” I said.

“C’mon, José and Bezu. The more I think about it, Cat’s right,” Annie Mae said. “Someone killed our friend, and I want to know who and why. And put them behind bars for life.”

“All in favor of looking into Lucy’s death say aye.” I took a quick look around the room. The afternoon sun shone through the tall windows.

“Aye.” Annie Mae fidgeted with a napkin.

José checked his cell phone, and Bezu seemed fixated on a spot on the table.

Silence hung in the air.

Bezu sighed.

“I’m out.” José stretched his long legs. “I’ll say it once more. It’s not my case. If I got involved, it’d be insubordination.”

I held my hand up. “I move for the Chubby Chicks Club to accept this mission, even without José.”

“Not a good idea.” José shook his head.

“Jeez.” Annie Mae glared at José. “Are you kidding me? You’re not going to help us?”

“No. I have a bad feeling this is going to be a train wreck.” José rolled his head side to side as if working out a crick in his neck. He stretched his arms, holding his hands, and cracked his knuckles. “And I don’t want to get fired. I also think you should stay out of it.”

“Fine. You’re out, José,” I said. “But I think the rest of us should investigate.” I raised two fingers. “So far it’s Annie Mae and me.”

Annie Mae nodded and took another bite of food.

“What about you, Bezu?” I asked.

Bezu let out a deep breath. “Sorry, no. I think y’all even thinking about investigating Lucy’s death with no experience is like having only one oar in the water.”

“That means no, right?” Annie Mae said.

“Yes, it means no,” Bezu said.

“So that just leaves Cat and me.” Annie Mae’s face twisted into a grimace. “What could go wrong?”

“Don’t be so pessimistic,” I said. “It’s our duty as Lucy’s friends to do this for her.”

“Right. Let’s find her killer,” Annie Mae said.

José took in a deep breath then exhaled. “Since you’re insisting on continuing with this, which I strongly advise you not to, then I can be an unofficial consultant. Just to keep you two out of jail. But that’s it.”

“Thanks, José. Any help from you is better than none.” Annie Mae’s face softened. “And don’t you think it was weird the way Lucy’s husband was flirting at her wake? He practically jumped the bones of that redhead.”

“Talk about inappropriate decorum.” Bezu sighed. “He should be ashamed of himself.”

“I saw that, too,” José said. “Some folks use wakes as pickup places.”

“Not us black folk. No, we honor the dead. We cry and carry on for days on end.” Annie Mae pounded her chest.

I corralled the conversation back on topic. “Maybe that was his mistress. Lucy had thought he might’ve been having an affair. Here’s what I think we need to do next. I think we need to interview some people who knew her and find out if she had any issues or problems with anyone.”

“Like someone who may have wanted her dead,” Annie Mae added.

“Yes.” I put my napkin on my plate.

“Great. The Chubby Chicks Club goes from misfit social group to amateur southern sleuths. Well, at least half of the group.” Annie Mae chuckled. “How in the hell did I get involved with this bunch of oddballs?”

“We needed an African American to round out the group.” José playfully tapped Annie Mae in the arm. “And you were round.”

“Just a little chubby.” Annie Mae smiled. “You caught me at a vulnerable time, that’s all. My Ernie had just died, so I wasn’t in my right mind. Now I’m sort of attached to you all. Kind of like when you fall in love with a homely puppy no one wants.”

Annie Mae and I came up with a few strategies to tackle Lucy’s investigation. José listened and offered suggestions.

Annie Mae and I wanted to talk to Lucy’s neighbor, Ina Nesbit, about the fight they had and the threatening note. I also thought that it was important to find out if Bert was having an affair and with whom. We also needed to somehow find out why Lucy’s note was written in pink lipstick and whose lipstick it could’ve been. Annie Mae planned to make a few phone calls, including to Lucy’s friends in her Bible study group.

Anne Mae and I intended to stop in at Lucy’s favorite stores, the Red and White grocery and Blue Belle's antique store, in order to find out anything we could about her state of mind and if anything seemed amiss in her life.

One thought kept nudging me: either there were two killers on the loose in Savannah, or just one. Could the same person have killed my father and Lucy?

I shuddered. I abhorred either thought.