Gail Oust - 'Til Dice Do Us Part

“Thanks, Aleatha.” Maybe I should have studied at the Higginbotham School of Fashion. My dress code bore a closer resemblance to Tammy Lynn Snow’s. Unlike Aleatha’s wildly flowered blue and green ensemble, I was wearing a beige twinset and brown flannel pants. Figured I’d go with neutrals since I might be wearing hard-to-miss orange soon enough.

“Can I get you a glass of tea or a soda?

“No, thanks,” I said. “I don’t want to risk drowning the butterflies in my stomach.”

“No need to fret with BJ helping. He said to send you right in.”

BJ looked up when I entered and came out from behind a massive antique desk. “Miz Kate,” he said, welcoming me with the warmth reserved for an old friend, “you’re lookin’ pretty as a picture this afternoon. Have a seat.”

I gave him a wobbly smile as I complied. “Sheriff Wiggins called. He wants to see me.”

He lowered himself onto the edge of the desk. I noticed he was wearing his signature bow tie. Today’s pick was navy blue imprinted with tiny green palmettos, South Carolina’s state tree. Snazzy!

“Don’t let Wiggins get your panties in a twist,” he counseled. “Now tell me, how can I help you?”

I set my purse in my lap, folded my hands primly, then took a deep breath. “Tell me everything I need to know about obstruction of justice. And when you’re done, kindly explain withholding information. Bottom line: Can I be arrested?”

A vertical frown formed between his brows. “What kind of information are you withholding?”

I looked down; I looked up. I looked anywhere but directly at him. “Um, I, ah, happened to overhear Claudia and Lance argue the night he was shot.”

“Mmm, I see. Just what were they arguin’ about?”

“Money.”

“And you’re afraid to tell the sheriff.”

“I’m more afraid of incriminating Claudia.”

BJ got up from his perch and prowled the room, hands behind his back.

I fiddled nervously with the strap of my purse. “He suspects I’ve committed a sin of omission.”

“I’d advise you to come clean. Don’t embellish anythin’. Just tell him what you heard. Arguments between husbands and wives are commonplace. Show me a husband and wife who don’t argue, and I’ll show you a husband and wife who don’t speak to each other.”

“But I heard Claudia say ‘over my dead body.’ ”

He grunted. “Merely a figure of speech. Folks say it all the time.”

“But most husbands don’t turn up dead half an hour later.”

“Good point, but don’t remind the sheriff of that sorry fact.”

“There’s more,” I said miserably. “She threatened to get him out of her life-‘one way or another.’”

“Surely Miz Claudia didn’t mean that in the literal sense. I’ll make a case it was a harmless statement made under duress. I’ll stress Miz Ledeaux is a savvy business woman who’d use the legal system-not a Smith and Wesson-to get rid of the bastard. Sorry for the vulgarity, ma’am,” he apologized, “but that best describes the deceased.”

I let out a sigh of relief. Maybe my information wasn’t so damning after all. People used figures of speech all the time, didn’t they? Especially under duress. What greater stress could there be than realizing the man you’d just married was out to rob you blind? Claudia’s remarks were perfectly justified.

“Would you like me to accompany you to the sheriff’s office?” He flicked his wrist to look at his watch. “I have an appointment in about ten minutes, but I’d be happy to cancel.”

I could tell from where I sat it was a Rolex-the real deal and probably worth at least a thousand dollars. Seeing it made me feel better. He must be very good at his job to be able to afford such an expensive piece of jewelry. Talking to him made me feel marginally better. “That won’t be necessary,” I told him, “but I’ll program your number into speed dial-just in case.”

BJ came over to me, and taking both my hands in his, said, “Miz Claudia is fortunate to have a friend like you. Don’t you worry none. I’ll do right by her.”

My newly acquired calm, however, vanished the instant I entered the sheriff’s office.

Glancing up from her desk, Tammy Lynn shoved her overly large glasses higher on the bridge of her nose. “Afternoon, Miz McCall. Sheriff said to send you straight to the interrogation room down the hall. He’s waitin’.”

I gave myself a pep talk as I proceeded down the hallway. I had nothing to fear but fear itself. I don’t remember who said it first, but it seemed to fit the occasion. I’d always answered the sheriff’s questions truthfully. I hadn’t lied. Might have left out a few teensy details was all. If he’d asked me whether I’d heard Claudia scream that she’d get Lance out of her life-“one way or another”-I’d have replied, yes, matter of fact I did hear that. It wasn’t my fault the sheriff didn’t ask the right questions.

I found the sheriff seated in his favorite creaky chair. “Have a seat, Miz McCall,” he said without looking up from the folder in front of him.

I gingerly sat in the lone chair opposite him, placed my purse beside me on the worn-tile floor, and folded my hands primly on the table. “You wanted to see me, Sheriff?”

“Seems like you and I have some unfinished business.” He glanced up and skewered me like a beef kabob with that sharp gaze of his. He looked around. “What, no gifts, no presents, this time? My, my, what’s the world comin’ to?”

He was mocking my gift-bringing habit. In New Or-leans, I believe there’s a term for such generosity: lagniappe, meaning a small gift for nothing. Truth was, I’d debated bringing him a little something, but decided against it at the last minute.

“Knowing how your mind works, Sheriff, I was afraid even a tiny gift might be misconstrued as a bribe.”

“You’re absolutely right, ma’am. This isn’t a social call. You might even call it an official interrogation.”

Oh dear, I was in for it now. We’d gone from interview to interrogation. Time for me to come clean and beg forgiveness. Bless me, Sheriff, for I have sinned…

Sheriff Wiggins consulted his notes. “I had a nice chat with Miz Marietta Perkins, who works the desk at the rec center in Serenity Cove Estates. Miz Perkins happened to be on the job the night of Mr. Lance Ledeaux’s untimely demise.”

Marietta Perkins, huh. That little snitch. Wait ’til I tell the Babes about her loose lips. See if we chip in for a nice gift come next Christmas.

“Miz Perkins said you arrived at the auditorium that night shortly after Mr. and Missus Ledeaux.”

“And if I did?”

He ignored my question. “Miz Perkins also claims she heard loud arguin’ comin’ from that direction and, bein’ a conscientious person an’ all, went to investigate. Said she started to open the door, and she saw you standin’ there. She was about to say somethin’ but returned to answer the phone at the front desk. Her memory is quite clear on the subject. She’s the sort who pays attention to detail.”

Attention to detail, my foot. Marietta Perkins was what Granny would’ve called a Nosy Parker and what Mama would’ve called a busybody. In either case, she was a woman who stuck her nose where it didn’t belong.

“What I want to know is this,” the sheriff continued. “Did the argument between Mr. and Missus Ledeaux have to do with money?”

Before I could answer, he held up a hand-a hand large enough to serve as a Stop sign. All it needed was some red and white paint. “Let me share another item of interest. I have it on good authority Mr. Ledeaux placed a rather large bet on the Super Bowl-a bet, by the way, he’d have lost. Ten thousand is a heap of money.”