Миранда Джеймс: Bless Her Dead Little Heart

Dickce suppressed a sigh. “Let me have your keys, and An’gel and I will get the bags in. Then I’ll move your car to the garage. We have space enough for it.”

Rosabelle rummaged in her bag and extracted the keys after a brief search. By that time Dickce had reached her, and Rosabelle handed the keys over without a word.

Dickce waited until Rosabelle and Clementine disappeared upstairs before she turned to her sister. “Do you really think a member of her family is trying to kill her?”

An’gel shrugged. “What she told us sounds serious, but a little part of me is still skeptical. We both know how prone she is to exaggerate to get attention.”

“That’s all she ever wanted to be,” Dickce said. “The center of attention.” She sighed and rattled Rosabelle’s keys. “Let’s unload the car.”

Twenty minutes later An’gel and Dickce were back downstairs in the parlor. Diesel had rejoined them the minute Rosabelle had gone upstairs. He had even followed them back and forth while they brought in the seven suitcases they had found in the car. Then he had ridden with Dickce to the back of house, where she had put Rosabelle’s dusty sedan in the garage. Now he lay on the floor beside An’gel’s chair, dozing.

Clementine stepped into the parlor to report that Rosabelle was sound asleep in her room. “Her head done barely lay down on that pillow, and she went right out.”

“Thank you, Clementine,” An’gel said. “I’m afraid our guest is going to mean extra work for you, but Dickce and I will try to see that she isn’t too demanding.”

“You never mind about that, Miss An’gel,” Clementine said. “I’ll manage. Now I best be getting back to the kitchen and seeing about your supper.” She turned and disappeared into the hall.

“If Rosabelle causes too much of a mess,” Dickce said, “we’re going to have to insist on getting some help.”

An’gel nodded. “We’ll fight that battle when we get to it.” She reached for her tea, the ice now melted, but her hand stilled at the sound of a vehicle approaching the house. She turned her head in the direction of the front window.

“Now what?” Dickce asked, exasperated at the thought of more company. She stood. “I’ll go this time.”

An’gel nodded. “Fine by me.” She picked up her tea and drained the glass.

Dickce reached the door before whoever it was could knock or ring the bell. She opened the door and stepped onto the veranda. The car, a Mercedes sedan, did not look familiar. Nor did the man who emerged from the driver’s side. Dickce could see another person in the car, perhaps a woman, though the hair was cut rather short.

The man, tall and thin, with a slight stoop, shut the door and approached the house. “Afternoon, ma’am,” he said when he reached the veranda. “Are you one of the Misses Ducote, by any chance?”

“Yes, I am.” Dickce decided that was enough until she knew what the stranger wanted.

“Then I found the right place.” The man nodded as if to emphasize the point. “My name is Wade Thurmond, and I’m looking for my mother, Rosabelle. Is she here by any chance?”

CHAPTER 3

Dickce dithered over how to respond. If Rosabelle’s fears were true, the last person she would want to see was one of the relatives she suspected. Telling the truth could put Rosabelle in danger, though the thought of lying, even to a stranger, made Dickce uncomfortable.

Instead of answering Wade Thurmond’s query, Dickce posed one of her own. “Why should Rosabelle be here, of all places?” There , she thought, that might put him off the scent.

Thurmond scowled. “Because coming here to Mississippi all the way from California is exactly the harebrained kind of thing my mother would do. She talks about the wealthy Ducote sisters all the dang time, about how wonderful and hospitable you are.” He paused for a breath. “So when she bolted in the middle of the night, we all figured this is where she would head.”

Dickce felt a presence behind her and moved aside. An’gel stepped onto the porch. Thurmond offered an uncertain smile.

“Good evening, sir,” An’gel said, her tone polite but not welcoming. “Do I take it you are Rosabelle Sultan’s son, Wade Thurmond?”

“Yes, ma’am, I am.” Thurmond’s expression turned mulish. “I take it you’re the other Ducote sister. Well, I’m not intending to barge in on anybody, but me and my family are worried about my mother. She ran off, like I was telling your sister here, and we figured she came to see the two of you.”

Before An’gel could respond, Rosabelle yelled, “Hold on a minute,” from a point behind Dickce. Both sisters turned to see their guest coming down the stairs at a fast pace, her expression stormy.

By the time Rosabelle reached the front door, her bony chest heaved from exertion, and Dickce motioned for An’gel to move out of the way to give Rosabelle plenty of room to confront her son.

“What in the blue blazes are you doing here? Didn’t you read my note?”

Thurmond hung his head but cut a sideways glance at his parent. “Aw, now, Mama, we read your note, but what did you think we were going to do? Just let you ride off into the sunset and not try to find you? Besides, saying that one of us was trying to kill you is out-and-out nuts.”

Rosabelle snorted. “It is not nuts. One of you put poison in my food the other night, and I’d be willing to bet it was that white-trash woman you got yourself married to.”

Thurmond’s head snapped back, and his expression turned ugly. “Now, you listen here, Mama; you stop that talk about Marla. All she’s ever done is be good to you, and you’re always putting her down.”

“If that’s what you think, son, then you’re even dumber than I realized. Marla doesn’t care about anybody but Marla, and you’re too old not to have figured that out by now.” Rosabelle’s face turned so red that Dickce feared she might stroke out right there on the veranda.

“That is quite enough from the both of you,” An’gel’s voice rang out, and mother and son flinched, then she turned to glare at the elder sister. “This appalling behavior has to stop, right this minute, or I will be forced to call the sheriff and have him come take charge of the situation.”

Dickce knew this mood of her sister’s, and if Rosabelle and Thurmond had any sense, they would shut right up. An’gel never threatened idly, and Rosabelle ought to remember that from their sorority days.

Either Rosabelle didn’t remember or didn’t care to because she turned back to her son and spoke again. “Don’t think I’m going to pack up and go back to California with you. I am staying right here while An’gel and Dickce help me figure out who’s trying to kill me.”

Thurmond’s short, heavyset wife had left the car and was making her way onto the veranda. “Wade, I’m tired of sitting in that car, and I need to use the bathroom.” Without waiting for a response from Thurmond or any kind of invitation from Dickce or An’gel, she brushed past her husband and into the house. “Where’s the toilet?”

“You see the kind of uncouth behavior I have had to put up with for the past thirteen years?” Rosabelle’s fists clenched at her sides. “This is what happens when your son marries trash from the wrong side of the tracks.”

Thurmond’s wife appeared to take no notice of her mother-in-law. She stared at An’gel and Dickce. “Well, isn’t one of you going to show me, or do I have to go find it myself?”

At the barest nod from An’gel, Dickce stepped forward. “Allow me, Mrs. Thurmond.” She was tempted to take the woman up to the third floor, to the bathroom the farthest away from the front door, but decided she shouldn’t behave as badly as this latest visitor to Riverhill. Instead she headed down the hall to the downstairs powder room near the kitchen.