The Lone Star Lonely Hearts Club (11 page)

“What have you seen, Miss Cissy?” Annabelle asked, her expression bordering on an all-out glare.

“Oh, geez, not the nightgown again,” I groaned, which only made my mother’s chin nudge higher.

“What nightgown are you talking about?” Annabelle appeared equal parts unnerved and baffled.

“The one Bebe was wearing when you found her,” I jumped in before Cissy could offer her silver dollar’s worth. “Miss Marple here”—I winged an elbow at Mother—“says that Bebe slept in the buff and that everyone close to her knew it. So she wouldn’t have been caught dead in a nightgown . . . except that she was . . . cripes, you know what I mean.”

“It’s a fact, Andrea, and worth investigating,” Cissy argued. “Because the circumstances at Bebe’s were as unnatural as what I witnessed here, with Sarah Lee.”

“And, pray tell, what unnaturalness did you find on these premises?” Annabelle warbled, looking on the verge of tears. “Was she wearing an outfit from last season? Or the wrong color shoes?”

“No, dear, those black Cole Haan pumps are entirely appropriate for her ensemble. That’s not the problem.” My mother wandered over to the sink and homed in on glassware drying on a dishtowel.

“Mother?” I called, and she turned around. “What did you see?”

Calm as she could be, she turned around and replied, “What? Oh, yes, the smoking gun and Sarah Lee.”

“You found a gun?” Annabelle looked ready to jump out of her skin.

“No, no,” Mother countered. “It was her lipstick.”

“Her lipstick?” my old campmate and I echoed in tandem.

“Obviously, she had plans for last evening, as she’s got on that pretty ensemble from Carolina Herrera’s fall collection and Sarah Lee didn’t get gussied up to stay home and watch TV.” Cissy came back around the granite-topped cooking island. “Only something was off, and I noticed the first moment I laid eyes on her.” She paused and tapped a finger against her painted mouth. “Her lipstick,” she said. “It was rubbed away almost completely.”

That
was the smoking gun?

Lord have mercy on us all.

I put my head in my hands.

Could this be real? Or was I trapped in a horrendous nightmare, like Dorothy in Oz? Was an attack of the flying monkeys soon to come?

“I’ll get you, my pretties!”
echoed through my head.

Annabelle wasn’t so slow to react.

“So, Miss Cissy, what you’re sayin’ is that you believe Bebe was murdered because she’d gone to bed in a nightgown . . . and Sarah Lee must’ve suffered the same fate because her lip rouge was smeared off and she was dressed for a night on the town? Have I got that down pat?”

Cissy’s slim shoulders stiffened at Annabelle’s tone. “Sarah Lee was
always
meticulous with her make-up. She would
never
leave the house without her lipstick intact. Someone was here when she died, just as I know someone was there with Bebe. Scoff all you want, but it’s the truth . . .”

“
Mother
,” I said, more sharply than I should have. The day had begun with a funeral and had only gone downhill from there. My patience had worn thinner than dental floss. “Hush,
please
.”

“Ah, so that’s the way it is?” Cissy tossed her head. “I’m the elephant in the room, am I? Just pretend I’m a crazy old lady and disregard what comes out of my mouth? If my own mother had demanded my attention, I’d have given it in an instant. That’s the difference between our generations. Mine respects age and wisdom. I’m sorry to say, I don’t think yours respects much of anything at all except flat tummies.”

I bit my tongue, so I wouldn’t interrupt her tirade. Better to let her rattle on until she sputtered out.

She picked up her purse and wagged it at me. “I’ll wait for
you
in the car, young lady. As for you, Annabelle, I’m sorely disappointed. I thought you had more sense than this, but I guess I was wrong.” She tucked the bag beneath her arm. Her eyes snapped from Annabelle to me, then back to Annabelle. “For now,
adieu
. But I haven’t finished with you yet.”

Annabelle’s face clouded up like a thunderstorm.

I chewed on the inside of my cheek, waiting until Mother had exited the kitchen before I said again, “I’m really sorry. I had no earthly idea she’d be affected like this. She’s practically hallucinating.”

“It’s all right, really,” Annabelle said, but I’m not sure she meant it. “Grief does strange things to people, and lashing out is a normal defense mechanism. But I do think you should take her home.” She walked up and caught my hands in hers. “It really was good to see you, Andy, and Cissy again, too, despite everything. Please, don’t be a stranger. I want to finish that tour I promised you. Some other time, then?”

“Sure, another time,” I agreed.

She began to twirl a thick strand of hair around her finger, spinning and spinning, until her digit was entirely wrapped up in the coil.

“You sure you’re all right?” I asked.

She furiously untangled finger from hair, her chin trembling so I expected the water works to start any minute. “Can’t anything go right for me?” she finally exploded, fists clenched at her sides.

Mindful of the opened archway between the kitchen and living room, I marched her quickly into the butler’s pantry and closed the door.

“Annabelle, for goodness’ sake, what’s really going on?” I thought of her remark outside:
“Oh, God, it’s happening again.”
Something was eating at her, and it wasn’t just Sarah Lee and Bebe’s deaths.

She jerked away from me in the narrow space and covered her face with her hands. “It’s bad
mojo
, Andy. It follows me wherever I go. I can’t get away from it,” she mumbled through her fingers.

“What are you talking about, bad
mojo
? Things have been going so well for you. You told me so yourself.”

She peeled her hands away and looked at me. Tears streaked her cheeks, coming thick and fast, taking clumps of black mascara down with them. “It started when my parents died.”

“Six years ago at their lake house,” I said. “But that wasn’t your fault any more than this is.”

“What I didn’t tell you, Andy, was that I was there the day it happened. I had dinner with them both, and it turned into a row, as usual. I can still hear the screaming in my head. God, they could be vicious.” She slumped against the slim cupboards. “The last words I uttered that night before I ran out, slamming the door, were that I hated them. Despised them to the core. ‘I wish you’d die!’ I told them both.” Tears splattered on her blue jacket. “The next morning, they were dead.”

I hardly knew what to say to that. “My gosh, Annabelle,” was all I could come up with, because I couldn’t imagine having to live with that kind of memory. That kind of guilt.

“There was a drawn-out investigation of the fire. Something about the pattern of how it spread. They thought for a while it might be arson, and they considered us all suspects.”

“Us all? Meaning you?” I stared at her, shaking my head.

“Yes, me, and Emmy and Franklin . . . the couple who cared for my parents, and the house and grounds.” She sniffled. “They raked us over the coals for months, the fire inspector, the police, and the insurance company, until they ruled it accidental. It was horrible, Andy, the worst time of my life. I barely survived.”

She didn’t elaborate, but I guessed what she meant.

“I couldn’t bear to go through anything like that again.” She wrung her hands. “I couldn’t. It would kill me.”

“Annabelle, stop, don’t think about this now,” I said quietly. “You have enough to handle without dwelling on the past.”

“You’re right,” she agreed and swallowed, hard. I could see the lump go down her throat. “I’ve got to call the funeral home and pull Sarah Lee’s file with all her postmortem instructions.” Lines of worry cut into her cheeks and brow. “Then I’ll have to inform the residents, and they haven’t even had time to get over losing Mrs. Kent. I know Sarah Lee has next of kin somewhere out of state, an older sister, I think, though I can’t remember her name. Damn it. Why can’t I ever get things right? I’m such a stupid, stupid cow!”

Before she said another word, I wrapped my arms around her, feeling her shake and hearing a low, keening sound come from somewhere deep inside. I patted her back, waiting for the tears to come; but she suddenly stiffened and stepped out of the circle of my arms. She opened the pantry door and strode into the kitchen.

I followed as she walked toward the sink, yanked a paper towel from a roll on the counter, and began to mop up her tear-streaked face.

She tossed the wadded-up towel into the sink and stood for a moment, gripping the stainless-steel lip, gazing out the window. “I have to hold myself together. There’s too much at stake. My whole life . . . Belle Meade . . . everything.”

I went over to where she stood, saw a pair of ceramic mugs drying on a dishtowel, and filled one with cold water from the tap.

“Here.” I held it out to her. “Sip on this. You’ll feel better.”

“Please, Andy,” she said, tucking her arms across her chest, pushing the glass away, “please, just leave.”

If I could’ve felt crummier, I wasn’t sure how.

I dumped the water in the sink and set the cup back on the dishtowel. With only a glance at Annabelle’s blue back, I shuffled out of the kitchen and passed through the living room to see the police officers had gone. Someone had covered Sarah Lee Sewell with the sage blanket, though it didn’t quite reach her black shoes.

Dr. Finch and Patsy stood near the fireplace, huddled together in conversation, pausing only when they realized I was there.

Patsy nodded at me, but Finch scowled and looked out the nearest window.

I didn’t feel it was appropriate to wave, so I kept walking, to the foyer and out the door.

The Bentley purred at the end of the sidewalk.

Behind its dark windows, I knew Mother was waiting. If I could’ve walked any slower, I’d have stood still.

Fredrik appeared in a flash as I neared the car, sailing around the hood to open my door. I murmured my thanks and crawled inside.

Cissy tipped her face so I caught her expression in the glimpse of sunlight that swam inside before Fredrik shut me in.

On her Coco Red lips sat an odd little grin.

“What’s the matter with you? Just what are you up to?” I said, the first thing that popped into my mind.

“For heaven’s sake, but you’re on a tear today,” she replied, “accusing me of everything but nabbing the cat.”

“Did you take a cat?” I checked the area around me, expecting to spot something furry.

She rolled her eyes. “That was a joke, Andrea.”

Mother was joking? Since when? Did hell freeze over, and I’d missed the announcement on CNN?

I scowled, but it didn’t seem to bother her a bit.

The Bentley swayed as Fredrik pulled away from the curb and headed away from the row of townhouses, nearly sideswiping the security guard’s golf cart as it rolled up the street, too late to do anything helpful.

“Poor Annabelle,” my mother murmured. “She has no one to count on, no one to give her advice, and she could use a steady influence. She’s still such an emotionally delicate creature. I wish she’d listened to me. I was so close to Bebe and Sarah Lee. I could help her figure this out, if only she’d let me.”

“No more about your theories, please.” I pressed my fingers against my throbbing temples, on the verge of a serious headache. “You’ve done enough already.”

“Done what? I haven’t done a thing . . . yet,” she said, but her hand moved over something beside her, pulling it close to her skirt.

I lowered my hands from my head and turned deliberately toward her, edging near enough that I could reach for whatever it was she was trying to cover up—something rolled up and secured with a rubber band.

“What are you hiding?”

“I’m not hiding anything.”

It wasn’t much of a struggle to tug it away from her. Maybe she’d wanted that all along.

She sat primly, hands in her lap, not saying a word as I unwrapped the bundle to find several catalogues, a copy of
Texas Monthly
, and assorted bills, letters, and junk mail addressed to one Sarah Lee Sewell.

I blinked a couple of times, rubbed my eyes to be sure I’d read right. Then I pictured the mailbox on the railing of Sarah Lee’s porch, its contents keeping the lid from closing, and I cringed when I realized what she’d done.

“You took her mail,” I blurted out.

I couldn’t believe it.

My blue-blooded, champion fundraising, card-carrying socialite mother was a thief.

Great balls of fire, indeed! I felt like I had stolen diamonds in my lap.

“So I picked up Sarah’s mail from her box? She won’t be reading it anytime soon, will she, sugar?”

“It’s still a crime,” I reminded her.

Her eyes narrowed. “So is murder, and you don’t seem to care about that.”

I stared at her, sputtering with frustration, wondering if she’d gone completely mad, or if I was the one who’d lost her mind.

She leaned over and began plucking each piece of mail from where it spilled across my thighs and the leather bench. “Oh, don’t be so judgmental, Andrea, not when it’s all for a very good reason.”

There was a good reason for snatching a dead woman’s mail?

“If no one else intends to look for more evidence”—she sighed—“well, then, it’s up to me, isn’t it? I owe it to Bebe and to Sarah.”

“More evidence?” I peeled back my fingers to stare at her. “Evidence of what? No one suspects foul play but you. Nightgowns and lipstick,” I muttered. “Please, tell me you’re going to drop this. You’re not seriously going to push this issue, are you? You’re not going to call Anna Dean?”

Anna Dean was the police chief of Highland Park. She and Mother were well acquainted, and not just because of Mother’s ample donations to the Widows and Orphans Fund. Cissy had once been on the receiving end of Anna Dean’s questions in a homicide investigation.

“No, I won’t get Chief Dean involved. It isn’t her jurisdiction.”

Phew. I let myself breathe again. Maybe I was a tad too hasty.

“But I’m quite serious, Andrea. Obviously, Annabelle and her staff want to whitewash what’s happened, and I can’t blame them a bit. Their license to operate could be in jeopardy, not to mention what bad publicity could do to Belle Meade, here and in Austin, as well as to any future investments.” Her eyebrows peaked. “Oh, yes, I know about her plans for expansion. But I can’t let that worry me, and I won’t stop until I know what the truth really is. So if you don’t like it, then leave me be. I’m a grown woman, and I can do as I please without my daughter telling me differently.”