Миранда Джеймс - Dead With The Wind

Montgomery maintained his calm, reserved manner. He didn’t appear to be fazed in the least by her statements.

“While I cannot discuss the details with you, Miss Ducote,” he said in his dry, precise manner, “I can assure you that there has been no malfeasance with the trust funds under my purview. By the terms of the trust, both my fellow trustee and I have to agree on any disbursement of funds. And as those funds are deposited in this bank, and as my signature is required before they can be released in any way, I can assure you the trust has not been violated.”

An’gel took a moment to absorb the meaning of the banker’s stilted language, and then she was baffled. Montgomery sounded convincing. But if there had been no embezzlement from Sondra’s inheritance, what was the motive for her murder?

CHAPTER 34

“Ordinarily, you understand,” Montgomery continued, “I would not tell you as much as I have. But as you said, the circumstances are indeed unusual because of the sad loss. Losses,” he added quickly.

An’gel was too distracted by her own thoughts to pay much attention to the banker. Had she and Dickce been so obsessed with the money angle that they were overlooking a more obvious answer? Was Sondra’s death a crime of passion instead?

Trey had a violent temper. An’gel had seen evidence of that. He hadn’t wanted Sondra to marry Lance Perigord. Had he struck out at her during an argument and killed her by accident? Or even deliberately? She would have to go back to Dickce and share the banker’s words with her.

“Miss Ducote, is there anything else I can assist you with?” Montgomery said.

An’gel surfaced from her thoughts to find the banker observing her with a puzzled expression. “I do beg your pardon, Mr. Montgomery,” she said. “I thank you for your time and for answering my questions.”

The banker rose and inclined his head. “I’m pleased to have been of assistance. I regret only that I could not assist you more.”

An’gel was about to bid him good-bye, but another question occurred to her, and she was sure he would know the answer.

“I do have one more thing to ask,” she said. “Jacqueline has been busy in town most of the day, and I haven’t wanted to disturb her. Could you tell me the funeral home that will be handling the funerals?”

“I believe Emile Devereux and Sons are in charge of the arrangements,” Montgomery said.

“And where might I find them?” An’gel asked.

“Another two blocks down this same street,” Montgomery said. “Might I inquire whether you are intending to go there this afternoon?”

“I thought I might,” An’gel said. She actually hadn’t intended to; she had simply wanted the information in order to arrange for flowers. Something in the banker’s manner, however, piqued her curiosity. “Thank you again, Mr. Montgomery. You’ve been most helpful.”

“Again, you are indeed welcome.” The banker inclined his head once more.

An’gel headed for the door. She opened it and stepped through, pulling the door almost shut behind her. She peeped through the crack to see whether the banker was in her line of sight.

He was not, but his arm reaching for the phone was.

“May I help you?”

The voice at her back startled An’gel, and she turned to see the young woman who had helped her earlier standing there with an annoyed expression.

“No, thank you,” An’gel said as she pulled the door gently closed. “I’ll see myself out.” She strode down the short hallway, head held high, as if she hadn’t been trying to eavesdrop on the president of the bank. And if her cheeks were slightly red, well, one might suppose it was because she was walking rather fast.

In the car, she glanced in the mirror. Her color was back to normal. She felt foolish. She shouldn’t have tried to eavesdrop, but she had been curious to see what the banker did after she was out of the room. There was something odd going on, but she had no idea what.

Perhaps the banker was in cahoots with Thurston and had lied to her about the state of Sondra’s inheritance. He didn’t seem the type to embezzle, though. He emitted an air of rectitude like the sun in the sky.

She headed down the street, looking for the funeral home. She found it two blocks down on the other side of the street. Jacqueline’s car occupied one of the parking spaces, and An’gel pulled in beside it. The building took up at least a third of a block.

Emile Devereux and Sons, Mortuary Services, occupied a house that An’gel decided must date from the late nineteenth century. She mounted the steps to the porch and opened the door. When she stepped inside, she found herself standing in a spacious and impressive foyer. An ornately carved wooden staircase mounted to the second floor about a dozen feet or so in front of her. There was a small reception desk to her right. Beyond that, a parlor. There was another like it to her left.

A heavy floral scent filled the air, but there was an undertone of another scent, a chemical one. An’gel recognized the faint whiff of embalming fluid. She walked over to the parlor on the left side and found it empty. She turned back and went to the right-hand one. Empty also. There was a large sign with removable letters near the stairs, but it was blank except for the name of the funeral home.

A voice coming from behind her startled An’gel.

“How may I assist you, madam?”

An’gel turned to see a handsome young man, black hair slicked back, dark suit, dark shoes, and an unctuous smile, regarding her.

“Good afternoon,” An’gel said. “I am looking for my goddaughter, Jacqueline Mims. I need to talk to her.”

The young man shook his head. “I’m sorry, madam, but she is not here.”

An’gel responded tartly, “I parked beside her car just moments ago. Did she abandon her car here for some reason?”

The young man, whom An’gel assumed was one of the sons of Devereux and Sons, didn’t bat an eyelid. “Ah, my mistake, dear lady. Mrs. Mims must still be here.” He gestured with his right hand and arm. “If you will wait in here, I will locate her and tell her you wish to see her.”

“Thank you,” An’gel said. She walked into the right-hand parlor and seated herself on a Victorian-looking divan. “Tell her Miss An’gel Ducote would like to speak to her.”

The young man bowed. “Certainly, madam.” He disappeared, and An’gel thought she heard him on the stairs. From where she was sitting, she could not see into the foyer.

She supposed Jacqueline was upstairs in an office or a showroom, making decisions about the two burials. She didn’t really want to intrude on her goddaughter at this time, but An’gel wanted to see the two murder cases brought to a swift conclusion. She needed to ask Jacqueline a few questions. There were missing pieces, and she hoped her goddaughter could help her fill them in.

“ Tante An’gel, why did you come all the way into town?” Jacqueline was bearing down on her. “I was getting ready to leave and would have been home soon.” She seated herself near An’gel on the divan.

“I was restless, feeling cooped up,” An’gel said, “and I decided to get out and come to town. Have you heard the latest news?”

Jacqueline shook her head. “No, I haven’t talked to anyone except Mr. Devereux and his sons. I think I left my cell phone in the car. Why? What has happened?”

Bugg might be annoyed with her for telling Jacqueline about Estelle’s murder, but he would just have to be annoyed, An’gel decided.

“Estelle is dead,” she said. “I was with her when it happened.”

“Her heart, I’ll bet,” Jacqueline said, looking stricken. “She was devoted to Maman and all this has been too big a strain for her.” She glanced up, as if to heaven, and sighed heavily.