Cake on a Hot Tin Roof (21 page)

Thirty

After work that evening I found Big Daddy’s address on the guest list and followed my GPS instructions to a house set back from the road behind a grove of trees. Now that I was here, I started second-guessing my plan.

The cake Ox had pulled together for me in between his regular duties sat on the seat beside me in a box bearing Zydeco’s cartoon alligator logo. The cake itself was nothing fancy. He’d found a spare hummingbird sheetcake—a local favorite—in the kitchen and he’d decorated it tastefully with a few pastel peach flowers in one corner. No cheesy hand-piped sentiment. Just cake. It was perfect for what I had in mind.

I turned onto the driveway and wound through forest until the house came into view. A handful of cars were scattered around—two parked in front of the house on a circular drive, two more in front of a garage at the side of the house, and a huge white SUV nosed up next to a serene-looking garden with a lighted fountain surrounded by some exotic-looking broad-leaved shrubbery.

I gathered up the cake and put on a sympathetic expression as I approached the door. A tall, thin man with horn-rimmed glasses and an impatient expression answered my ring and glared down at me from a step above.

Tyson. Well, well, well.

“Yes?”

“I’m here to see Mrs. Boudreaux. Is she in?”

“She’s in, but she’s not available. Is there something I can help you with?” The look on his face said he’d rather do anything but.

I shook my head, but I didn’t back down. Now that I’d run into him, my curiosity was in overdrive. “I really need to see her,” I said. “It’s important.” And when that didn’t impress him, I added, “I only need five minutes of her time.”

He glanced over his shoulder—the first sign that maybe he didn’t actually rule the world and had to take orders from someone else. “I’ll see if she’s up to seeing you. Your name?”

“Rita Lucero.”

Nothing.

“From Zydeco Cakes.” I held up the cake box as if that might make a difference.

He still didn’t move away from the door.

Desperate times call for desperate measures, so I tried a different strategy. “Her husband passed away at my party,” I explained. “I feel so horrible I just won’t be able to rest until I offer my condolences.”

“The funeral was yesterday,” he said.

“That’s why I waited until today,” I said back.

He still looked hesitant, but he motioned me inside and shut the door behind me. But that’s where he drew the line on hospitality. He held up a hand to indicate that I wasn’t to come any farther inside and said, “I’ll see if she’s feeling up to visitors.”

I wondered if he’d be so bristly if I told him I’d been in the church garden yesterday. Even if Susannah didn’t actually hate Violet, she still might not like learning that her cabana boy was on friendly terms with her husband’s mistress.

He kept me cooling my heels for a good fifteen minutes before he came back. His expression was so sour, I expected him to show me out the door again. I could feel aggression pouring off him in waves. Instead, he growled, “Come this way.”

I kept my own face expressionless, but inside I did a little skippy dance of joy and followed him through the house and onto a screened porch filled with potted ferns and wicker furniture. Susannah Boudreaux sat on a swinging daybed suspended on chains from the ceiling.

She wore black clam diggers and an open sweater of soft, draped material over a pastel pink tank top. Her legs were tucked under her, and she looked pale and wan, as if sitting was almost too much for her. But her burgundy-colored hair had been carefully teased and sprayed, and her makeup appeared flawless. Which made me think she was stronger than she was letting on.

She offered me a limp hand when I approached, and waved me toward a chair.

I put the cake box on the coffee table and sat. “Thank you for seeing me. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.” Her voice was soft. Barely above a whisper. A far cry from the fishwife shriek she’d used when she told the world about Uncle Nestor attacking Big Daddy. “You brought me a cake?”

“Just a little something,” I said. “It’s what I do.”

She smiled sadly. “Well. Thanks.” She blew her nose and tucked the tissue into her pocket. “Tyson said you wanted to see me about something important?”

I nodded and glanced toward Tyson, who stood in the doorway, arms crossed and glaring at me from behind his glasses. I took a page out of Miss Frankie’s book and dusted my next comment with sugar.

“It must be so comforting to have your family around at a time like this.”

Her gaze shot to Tyson and they shared a look. “Tyson’s a friend,” she said when she looked away. “A family friend.”

I wondered whether Big Daddy had been aware of his wife’s friendship with Tyson. I’d have bet half of everything I owned that he hadn’t. “Friends are good, too,” I said, smiling as if I believed her. “The important thing is that you’re not alone.”

“Yes,” she said. “Well. What is it you wanted to see me about?”

I decided it might be best to ease into the subject of that kiss, so I said, “Please understand that I don’t mean any disrespect. And I don’t want to bring up painful issues, but I’d like to ask you about your brother-in-law. I understand he had a disagreement with your husband the night Big Daddy died.”

“He may have,” she said. “I don’t know anything about that.”

“Your husband didn’t mention it to you?”

She smoothed one hand down the leg of her pants and I spotted a slight tremor in her hand. Nerves or grief? I couldn’t be sure. “No,” she said. “And neither did Judd.”

“So you don’t know anything about the trouble Judd was in?”

She pulled her hand away from her leg and clasped both hands in her lap. “What makes you think he was in trouble?”

“Someone overhead him promising to pay Big Daddy back. In that same conversation, Big Daddy told Judd he was going to put him in rehab. You don’t know anything about that?”

She shook her head slowly. “No, but I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. It’s no secret that Judd has issues with alcohol. He makes a habit of getting himself into scrapes and my husband was constantly bailing him out.” Her voice was hard and flat, and so were her eyes.

“I take it you didn’t approve?”

“Approve? Hardly. Judd’s behavior is destructive and selfish. But he’s family, and my husband was very protective of him.”

“And that’s why you gave your husband an ultimatum?”

She shot flaming daggers at me with her eyes. “I did no such thing.”

“You didn’t tell him he had to make things right with Percy—and I quote—or else?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. My husband was a softhearted and generous man. His brother sometimes took advantage of that.”

“His alcoholism?”

“Everyone knows it’s a disease,” she said. She looked at me through a set of snake eyes. “Big Daddy and I were both very sympathetic toward his brother’s illness.”

“Until the night he died,” I pointed out. “How do you think Judd would have reacted to the threat of being sent to rehab?”

“He would have been angry and upset, but he would have gone. He always did anything Big Daddy asked him to do.” She narrowed her eyes and looked to Tyson for direction. He gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head, resuming his position as king of her world.

“I don’t understand why you’re asking all these questions about my brother-in-law,” she said, shifting position slightly. “What’s it to you?”

“I’m just trying to figure out what happened.”

“Isn’t that a job for the police?” Tyson said from his post at the door.

“Yes, of course. But Mrs. Boudreaux practically accused my uncle of killing her husband.” I turned away from Tyson and addressed Susannah again. “I’d like to know what led you to believe that.”

She looked stunned and angry. “That man is your uncle?”

“Visiting from out of town,” I said with a nod. “He arrived just a few hours before the party. He didn’t even know Big Daddy.”

“Apparently he knew him well enough,” Tyson put in.

Yeah. Thanks, buddy. I stayed focused on Susannah. “Why do you believe my uncle killed your husband?”

“I believe that,” she said, “because it’s true.”

Liar
. “You saw him do it?”

She shot another look at Tyson and said, “No. But I’m sure it was him.”

“With all due respect, Mrs. Boudreaux, that wasn’t my question. I asked why you think that.”

Her spine stiffened and the softness around her mouth disappeared. “I think that because he attacked my husband. Twice. And he did it in front of everyone.”

“He confronted him because your husband made inappropriate suggestions.” At least that’s why they’d fought the first time. I still wasn’t sure what had caused the second fight, but I assumed it had something to do with the kiss.

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. Big Daddy made a little joke. What’s the harm in that? That’s just the kind of man he was.”

I’m not a violent person, but I wanted to get up out of my chair and show her the harm with the flat of my hand. What can I say? I
am
related to my uncle. I gripped the arms of the chair to keep myself where I was. “It was no joke,” I said. “And not everyone found your late husband amusing.”

She waved away my comment as if it were a pesky fly. “Clearly, your uncle has anger issues that he’s incapable of controlling. I can’t help but feel sorry for his wife. To live with that kind of a monster must be horrible.”

She really was too much. “If you felt that way,” I said, getting to the crux of the issue, “why did you kiss him?”

Tyson’s head jerked up as if someone had a string attached to it, but he didn’t say a word. Family friend, my ass.

Susannah’s eyes glinted, but her hard edges disappeared under a coating of Southern sweet ganache. “Oh, sweetie,” she purred. “Someone’s been lying to you. I didn’t kiss him, he kissed me.”

Thirty-one

Tyson showed me to the door, and I held my head high as I walked back to the Mercedes. I drove half a block before anger and frustration forced me to the side of the road. I put the car into park and leaned my forehead against the steering wheel while emotions churned around inside.

Somebody was lying to me. That much was obvious. I just didn’t know whether that somebody was Uncle Nestor or Susannah Boudreaux. Gut instinct told me to believe Uncle Nestor, but the way he’d been acting, so secretive, made me begin to wonder.

I don’t know how long I sat there before I began to calm down and think rationally again. My family was waiting for me at home. But I wasn’t ready to talk to Uncle Nestor just yet. I still needed to process what Susannah had told me.

There was another reason I didn’t put the car in gear and head for home. In all the conversations I’d had over the past week, nobody had told me anything that would clear Uncle Nestor for good. But I couldn’t just give up. Especially now, with things so rocky between Uncle Nestor and Aunt Yolanda. My uncle might be a lot of things, but he’s not a murderer. Somebody out there knew something that would prove that. I just had to keep digging until I found it.

I pulled the guest list out of my bag and flipped through the pages until I found the address I was looking for. I programmed it into the GSP, made a U-turn, and drove to Judd Boudreaux’s apartment. He lived in a picturesque complex on Lake Pontchartrain, which consisted of half a dozen three-story buildings scattered across a well-trimmed lawn, all posed in front of the lake and harbor like something that belonged on a postcard.

The road wound around through the buildings, edging off into small parking lots here and there. I followed it until I found the right building and made the rest of the journey on foot.

Unit 203 was on the middle floor, set back from the common staircase to give the illusion of a private entrance. A couple of old newspapers and some dry leaves littered the entryway, and the light over the door flickered on and off as if it was on its last legs.

I rang the bell and the sound of scuffing footsteps reached me a few seconds later. I felt the pricking of nerves and a sudden rush of adrenaline. What was I thinking, coming here alone?

He’d been drinking, and pretty steadily. My clues? The smell, the way he wobbled on his feet and squinted to figure out who I was, and the bottle in his hand. Oh, and the fact that he was still wearing the clothes he’d had on at the funeral yesterday—minus the tie.

He looked tired and sad. Dark circles had formed under his eyes, and thin spider veins were visible across his nose and cheeks. The charm that had so affected me the first time we met was subdued tonight, diluted by grief and whiskey.

“Well,” he said with weak attempt at a grin. “If it isn’t the lovely Cinderella. Looking for your shoes again?”

“I have them tonight, thanks. I wonder if you’d mind answering a few questions.”

He eyed me curiously. “Questions? What are you, a police officer?”

I shook my head. “Just a friend.”

He took a deep drink from the bottle and stepped away from the door, bowing elaborately at the waist. “Well, in that case, come on in.”

Inside, the place was a far cry from Big Daddy’s home. It was sparsely furnished with a threadbare couch, two lopsided easy chairs, and a coffee table dotted with cigarette burns. Early Goodwill.

He swept a hand toward one easy chair. “Make yourself at home.”

I perched on the edge of the seat to avoid a spring I could see coming through the cushion. Judd dropped heavily into a matching chair next to a cluttered TV tray. He bounded to his feet again almost immediately, his once-handsome face clouded. “My mama would have my hide for not offering you something to drink. Can I get you a beer, or would you like something stronger?”

“Nothing,” I said with a scant smile. “Thanks.”

“You’re sure?” He shrugged at my nod and sat. “So what can I do for you?”

“I’d like to ask you about the night your brother died, if you don’t mind.”

“What do you want to know?”

“First, let me say how sorry I am for your loss. I understand that you and Big Daddy were close. I know this must be difficult for you.”

He didn’t say anything, but a muscle in his cheek jumped and I knew he was feeling something.

“I wonder if you could tell me if your brother had any enemies. You know, was there anyone angry with him? Anyone who might have wanted to hurt him?”

Judd let out a deep breath. His cheeks puffed out a little as he exhaled, and he wiped one hand across his eyes. “Bradley had a lot of friends,” he said when he finally spoke. “But he also had a lot of enemies. People either loved him or hated him.”

“He had a strong personality,” I said, trying to put a positive spin on it. “Do you know if he was having any issues at work? Did he ever mention any issues with an employee, or maybe a disgruntled former one?”

Judd shook his head. “Not that I know of. Nothing serious, anyway. I’ve done some work for him off and on over the years. People came and went. A few people got upset over having to work weekends and late night hours, but that’s the nature of the business. Some people stuck around for a while, but some got out of there as fast as they could. With Bradley, it was his way or the highway. You either did what he said, or you walked.”

“And people were okay with that?”

Judd shrugged. “It was what it was. He made it clear from the beginning, so nobody could ever say they were surprised.”

He seemed to be dodging the question, and I wondered whether he was consciously avoiding the answer or if his brain was just too pickled to form a straight answer. “Did anybody ever try to say they were surprised? Maybe someone he fired?”

Judd shook his head slowly. “Not recently.”

I filed that away in case I needed it later. “What about his marriage? What was that like?”

Judd took another drink and capped the bottle slowly. “You ask a lot of questions, Cinderella. Has anyone ever told you that?”

I smiled. “A few people. I do that when I’m trying to help someone.”

“That’s admirable, but hardly justification for me to spill all of my brother’s secrets.”

“If those secrets were responsible for his death, I think you’d want to bring them to light.”

Judd didn’t say anything to that, so I gave him a little more to think about. “I just came from Susannah’s house. She accused my uncle of killing your brother. Uncle Nestor didn’t do it. I’m trying to help him prove that.”

That brought Judd’s head up quickly. “Your uncle’s the old man? The one who took a couple of swings at Bradley?”

“Yes, but he was only reacting to something Big Daddy said about my aunt.”

“That would be the lovely older Latin lady?”

I nodded. “How did you know about Uncle Nestor and your brother?”

“Word gets around quickly. Bradley thought it was kind of a kick, you know. Since nobody actually got hurt and all.”

“He didn’t seem all that amused at the time.”

“Well, that was my brother for you. He could change his mind faster than anyone I ever knew.”

“Does that mean that you don’t think my uncle killed your brother?”

He flicked something from one pant leg and looked up at me as if the idea of that surprised him. “I guess I don’t.”

I could have kissed him, and I might have if he hadn’t smelled so bad. “What happened after the fight? Did you see where your brother went or who he talked to?”

Judd cleared a space for his bottle on the TV tray and spent a moment getting it to balance in the small spot. “I didn’t see him again after that. I don’t know where he went or who he talked to.”

Well, that was a big fat lie, but I didn’t say so. I had a few more questions to ask before I called him on it. “Why was Susannah upset with your brother that night?”

He scowled. “She was always upset with him. That’s not news.”

“Are you saying they fought a lot?”

He flicked a glance at me. “It would be hard not to fight with Susannah. She’s not exactly easy to get along with.”

That was a nice way of putting it. “She gave your brother an ultimatum. Do you know anything about that?”

He yawned, but I had the feeling it was just for show. “Sorry. Can’t help you. Ultimatums are her thing. It’s how she rolls.” He put on a falsetto voice and mimicked Susannah. “Get me that car for Christmas or there’ll be no sex for you. Take me to Cancún for our anniversary or I’ll spend everything in your bank account.”

Interesting, but not surprising. “This ultimatum had something to do with a man named Percy. Do you know anything about that?”

Abruptly, the smile slid from his face. “No, and I’m finished answering your questions.” He tried to get up, but he lost his balance and fell back into the chair with a thud.

My heart pounded in my chest at the sudden change in him, but I refused to cut and run. “A friend of mine heard her tell Big Daddy that this was the last straw. That she wasn’t going to let him embarrass her. Do you have any idea why she’d say that?”

“I just told you,” he snapped. His eyes had taken on a strange focus, and the bleary-eyed drunk turned into something raw and powerful right in front of me. “I don’t know anything about what happened between the two of them. I don’t care what happened between the two of them.” He stood, this time without trouble. “I think you’d better leave now.”

He didn’t have to tell me twice. I got up and scurried toward the door and freedom. But as I stepped out onto the dimly lit landing, I couldn’t leave without asking one more question. “Another friend of mine says he heard you arguing with Big Daddy a little before one in the morning. You promised to pay him back, and he told you he was sending you to rehab. You owed him money. For what?”

“I don’t mean to be rude, darlin’, but that’s none of your damn business.” The door slammed between us, and I bolted down the stairs, cursing myself for taking such a stupid chance and grateful that he’d done nothing worse than growl at me.

Judd hadn’t exactly been a font of information, but I knew one thing that I hadn’t known when I arrived: Susannah wasn’t the only Boudreaux lying about what happened the night that Big Daddy died.