Killer Cousins (29 page)

Reeling in childish emotions, I grabbed my legal pad and made a list of people I knew who were connected to Pierce Trottier. The police were certainly doing this, and way beyond the investigating I could do. They were also taking care of questioning people connected to the restaurant. I didn’t know anything about Fawn McKenzie, except she was attractive, petite, and sucked straws the last days of her life. Also, she belonged to a group with my cousin and a man who’d died. This was the only place I knew to try to connect whoever might have killed both of them.

I listed members of The Quitters Group, leaving lots of blank lines between names.

I stared at the empty spaces, not knowing what else to write.

My mind blanked. It wouldn’t wrap around those people’s faces and what I’d learned of them. I would have to try again in the morning. I was tired, but my restless mind wasn’t sleepy. I dressed for bed and considered reading material. I opened a dresser drawer, grabbed magazines, and took them to bed.

The first one I flipped through was shocking. My cousin actually bought this stuff? I skimmed the second one and shook my head. Horrible. I opened the third one.

Da-dunt, da-dunt, da-dunt.

I shoved up from the covers and grabbed my phone.

“You sound breathless. Were you running?” Gil asked.

“No.” I noticed my words were high-pitched. And pictured Gil as I’d seen him often, naked, and I knew without a doubt I wanted him.

“I thought you might want to know what’s going on with me.”

“Of course I do.” I got ready to hear that his body was all healed. Then we could do wonderful things with it.

“Tomorrow I’m reopening my restaurants.”

“Great! All of them?”

“Yes. I don’t know if customers will come again, but my hires need to work. I hadn’t considered how many people I employ. Business would hurt more the longer we’d keep the restaurants closed.”

“I think you’ve made a wise decision.”

“Thanks for your vote of confidence.”

I smiled and sat on the bed. “How are your body parts that I mangled?”

“Getting better. Soon I might be able to walk without help.” His voice held cheer so that he wouldn’t make me feel bad. “What were you doing?” he asked.

I glanced at the pile of half-naked men posing. “Getting ready for bed.”

“Need any help?”

“No, thanks, I can do it all by myself.”

“I know you can, Cealie. Sometimes I wish you weren’t quite so independent.”

“And what would you have me be? Totally dependent on a man?”

“No, not totally. Just calm down.”

“I’ve been there, you know, and it doesn’t work.” After we met I’d told him how I’d depended on my husband, Freddy, to be the other half of a person with me. And then he’d died and left me alone, needy, not knowing where to take the next step or who I was any longer.

“I’ll see you later,” Gil said.

I was still huffy when we hung up. I wasn’t angry with him. I fumed at the image of myself as I was back then, back when Freddy was dying and then after he went. I became like a bird with one broken wing, with no idea how I’d ever fly again.

Time, friends, and prayers all helped me stand. And now I was rediscovering Cealie and learning more about what I wanted from my life.

I am woman. I can do anything—alone!

My motto flashed through my brain but not too energetically. I gripped my phone. Stared at it. Envisioned Gil.

He hadn’t hurt me. If anything, he’d renewed my self-image as a desirable woman. Gil enlivened the dormant side of me. How important was he for doing that?

I needed to let go of the images of any man. Gil. And those men on my bed.

I shoved the magazines back into a drawer and remembered my clothes were still in the washer. I strode outside and turned on the light. In the small utility room off the porch, I dug my clothes out of the washer and tossed my panties in the dryer. Alarm skittered along my skin. A strong sensation told me someone was watching. I smelled smoke.

I looked at the room’s doorway, heart pounding.

Nobody visible. Had I imagined a person out there?

I shoved the rest of my clothes in the dryer, punched it on, and rushed out of the room so no one could lock me inside.

On the porch I scanned the yard. Lots of bushes a person could hide behind. The gate was shut. The headlights of one car moved past on the road. I spied a tendril of smoke out beyond the fence. Or was that steam off the road? The feeling remained that someone was out there, watching. I rushed in the house, locked the door, and turned off the porch lights.

Stevie was nowhere in sight. Her bedroom door was open. Her altar-room door shut. A sudden guttural chant sounded inside there.

I rushed to my room. Locked my door, switched on a lamp, and turned off the overhead light. Then I paced, jittery, even more fearful when I walked near the widow. The curtains were shut. I checked the window and found it still locked.

You’re making yourself scared.
I needed to get to bed and read so I’d quit thinking. I grabbed a new novel from my suitcase and crawled under the covers.

I’d thought the book was a mystery from its cover, but hadn’t read the blurbs. The suspense thriller scared me from paragraph one. This wasn’t what I wanted.

My heart pounded. I heard noise. My arms jerked. I looked at the window, saw nothing different, and determined the sound hadn’t come from outside. It was in the house, probably Stevie going to her bedroom.

I threw the scary book against the wall. I didn’t need more things frightening me. I was jumpy enough.

Digging in my suitcase, I grabbed my old standby sleep aid.

I slid back under the covers and opened my newest cookbook,
The Best Recipes of the Year.
Baked Chicken Soufflé, which must be made the night before cooking. Coq Au Vin I and II, also great made ahead. The longer they sat, the better they were. Why? Couldn’t cooks get it right the first time? Movarian Sugar Cake. Its recipe included mashed potatoes. Potatoes in a cake? I felt myself drifting off even as I heard my light snores.

* * *

Stevie was gone in the morning. The scent of coffee called me to the kitchen.

I peeped out the back door. The sun was high. A few trucks drove past. The large bald man with the Lab walked by. He didn’t glance at Stevie’s yard.

I rushed to the dryer and pulled out my things. Rushed back inside and locked the door. Then felt ridiculous. Did I actually believe a person went out there last night to watch me on Stevie’s porch—and was still out there, watching?

“Guess what?” I said to Minnie cactus. “I was silly enough to believe some guy stood out there all night, waiting to see me in my nightgown.” I twirled around so my gown skimmed my hips and enjoyed my laugh. Minnie would probably laugh, too.

I checked her out. The pink poufs that reminded me of sponge curlers looked healthy. So did her thick stem. I touched her soil. Dry. “You’re looking good,” I said.

Grabbing coffee, I opened the newspaper. Stared at the headlines.

LOCAL RESTAURANT TO REOPEN.

Beneath the words was a picture. Stevie. Me. Many people in the yard of Gil’s restaurant watching medics rush in with a gurney that would take Fawn away.

The article reminded anyone who might have forgotten that a patron died while eating there. She died of an allergic reaction to shrimp in her chicken gumbo, the reporter announced. Restaurant owner Gil Thurman could not be reached, but manager Jake Bryant said no one knew yet why any shrimp would be in chicken gumbo. The deceased patron, Fawn McKenzie, had known of her severe allergy to seafood.

Restaurateur Gil Thurman had shut down all of his restaurants, the article told, until detectives could learn more about his customer’s death.
Little information has been released by the police at this time, but Mr. Thurman has decided to reopen all of his Cajun Delights restaurants. They will open today, even the local one where many customers saw Fawn McKenzie drop dead.

A few quotes were included. One customer felt weird to see a person fall on her plate like that. Another had wanted to help but hadn’t known how. A woman would never walk inside that place again. She’d always picture a woman dead in a bowl.

An article in Section B would tell readers about allergies and what to do if they experienced severe allergic reactions to anything.

I knew where I had to eat lunch. I swallowed hard, hoping for Gil’s sake that I wouldn’t be the only person at his restaurant.

Chapter 29

I worried about the possible consequences of Gil’s decision to reopen now. Concern for him made a lump jam my throat.

Suppose he opened all of his restaurants today, and no customers showed up? Of course he was helping his employees by giving them jobs, but what if people shunned all of his places? Then what would happen to all of the people he employed?

What would happen to Gil?

How could I help?

I could show up at his restaurant. I could contact everyone I knew in other cities where he owned restaurants and urge them to eat at Cajun Delights to show their support.

I picked up my phone, skimmed names, and pressed
Roger
.

After a few rings, my son in Chicago said, “Hey, Mom.”

“Hi, sweetie. How’re you and my grandchild?”

“Kat’s great. Me, too. And yes, I’m still dating her teacher friend.”

“Good boy.” I’d had a hand in getting them together. And silly Gil thought I shouldn’t be a matchmaker.

Male voices and clinks of metal tools sounded. Roger was at his auto repair shop. I couldn’t keep him on the phone.

“I need your help.” I gave a brief rundown of what happened at Gil’s place. He’d already heard about it on the national news. He also knew Gil’s recently opened Cajun Delights there in Chicago had closed. But hadn’t known it would reopen today. “It will, and I’m afraid people will avoid going because of what happened here. Would you and Kat eat there today? And ask people you know to eat there, too? Including Chicken Boy?” Chicken boy was a teen I’d hired to wear a costume to surprise my granddaughter Kat.

“I’ll be glad to. It’s my favorite restaurant.”

“I know. And you’ll eat lots of fried frog legs.”

“Dozens.” My son’s laughter poured joy into my heart.

He promised to kiss Kat for me, and then we hung up. I took a moment to experience the happiness of knowing my child who’d been miserable so long was laughing again. And I laughed. And then phoned people I knew even slightly in other places where Gil had restaurants. Lots of people in Vicksburg. Some in Bangor and other cities.

Satisfied, I grabbed the small pile of clothes I’d taken from the dryer and left on the table and carried them toward my room.

The doorbell startled me. I rushed to my room, dropped my dried clothes, and tossed a robe over my nightgown. The bell rang until I opened the front door.

“Delivery from Westell Brothers,” said a man possibly in his late fifties. “Where do you want us to come in with the stove? Here or the back door?”

I looked at his delivery truck.
We Haul Everything
plastered on its side. A truck anyone could rent. Westell Brothers probably wasn’t large enough to have its own trucks.

“You’ll have to drive around to the street behind the house to get to the back door,” I said. “I’ll go unlock it.” I locked the front door and felt apprehensive, probably because I was alone and wearing a nightgown and a strange man would be coming in.

Did I think Stevie would be any help with an intruder? I didn’t know but would have felt better if she’d been here. I felt silly for being uneasy now. Darn, I’d ordered a replacement stove for her. But I’d been questioning the trustworthiness of people we took for granted because they came near our houses every day or they wore a uniform like they were representing some place. And this deliveryman looked almost as old as me—too old to be hauling around appliances.

To be on the safe side, I grabbed the bug spray. I held it high and met him outside the back door. “Do you have papers from the store that the stove came from?” I asked.

He looked at the spray. Looked at me. Looked back at his young partner. “Yeah, I’ll need you to sign this paper saying we delivered it,” he told me, pulling a sheet from his khaki shirt pocket. “But I was going to wait till we actually had it inside.”

“I can hold it for you.” I put out my hand. He gave me the paper, and I checked the letterhead. “Yes, this is from Westell Brothers.”

“Did you think somebody else might send you a stove today?” He raised one eyebrow. They used a dolly to get the boxed stove up the steps and roll it inside. “Somebody got rough with this other stove, huh?” he said, looking on top of the one I had smashed.

“I’ll just step out a minute while y’all get it out,” I said and hurried to my room. I locked the door. Changed into slacks and a nice shirt. For some reason, I also didn’t feel comfortable in my bedroom while strange men were in the house. I still had my bug spray. Would it really cause problems if sprayed directly into a man’s eyes? And would I use it? I wasn’t sure, so I also carried my hair spray.

The men had already taken the old stove outside. The older man was slitting the new box open. “You use a lot of spray, don’t you?” he said, seeing me.

I smiled. Didn’t need to answer him.

He and the young guy did rapid work of getting the new stove into place and hooked up. I signed his paper, told them they did a nice job, and locked the back door once they went out.

The stove looked great. Shiny and unused, exactly as I preferred them. I placed the mirror from the old stove on top of the new one, then glanced at the wall clock and cursed. Twelve forty-five. I’d wanted to get to the restaurant early so they would have at least one customer, and Gil might not be too discouraged.

I rushed away from the house.

* * *

WE HAVE REOPENED. The large sign outside Cajun Delights could not be missed. Neither could all the cars in its parking lot.

Happiness tickled my ribs. I parked and heard jazz while I went in the front door, the aroma of steak and boiled seafood adding to my pleasure.