Миранда Джеймс - Bless Her Dead Little Heart

“He won’t,” Benjy said. “Miss An’gel, I promise I’ll work really hard and do anything you want me to do to help out. I know how to clean and do laundry.”

“Benjy, I’m sure you would work hard,” An’gel said. “I think this is an idea we should all discuss further, but I am in favor of it. Let’s wait until things are calmer around here before we talk any more about it. All right?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Benjy said with a big smile. “Thank you.”

Dickce nodded approvingly at her sister. “Why don’t you leave this to Benjy and me? I can see how tired you are, and it won’t take us long to get this all put away. Go on upstairs and get ready for bed.”

An’gel nodded. “I’m too tired to argue. It’s still early, I suppose, but I’ll be happy to get some rest. Thank the Lord that Kanesha’s deputies are on watch tonight. We should have a quiet evening.”

“Have you checked with Kanesha about that other deputy?” Dickce didn’t want to be more specific than that because she didn’t want to alarm Benjy. Surely An’gel would catch on to the fact that she was talking about a deputy to keep an eye on things outside the house.

An’gel looked puzzled for a moment, then her face cleared. “Thanks for reminding me. I haven’t heard, so I’ll call when I get upstairs. I’m sure everything will be fine, though. Good night.”

Dickce and Benjy wished her good night as they continued to clear the table. After three trips to the kitchen, they had removed everything from the dining room except the tablecloth and napkins.

“I’ll go get it,” Benjy said.

“Thanks.” Dickce started putting food away in containers to be stored in the refrigerator. Right after Benjy left, she suddenly heard a scratching noise.

Where was it coming from? She stopped scraping potatoes into a plastic container and listened intently.

There it was again. Coming from the back porch, she decided. What could it be?

She picked up one of the sharp carving knives and walked slowly to the back door. The scratching continued, becoming louder and more frantic.

Then she heard sounds she recognized as those of a frustrated cat trying to get in the door.

Laughing, she unlatched the door and opened it to allow Diesel to enter. He meowed at her and padded past her. He meowed several times more, and Dickce thought he was complaining about how slow she was to answer the door.

“I’m sorry, Diesel.” She walked past him to restore the knife to its place in the rack. “I had forgotten all about you, poor kitty.” Hands now free, she rubbed his head, and he began to purr.

“We have company,” she said when Benjy returned moments later, his arms full of tablecloth and napkins. “You can put those over there for now.”

“Hi, there, boy.” Benjy piled the linens on the table as directed. “I guess Junior didn’t close the door completely.” He glanced at Dickce. “When we left to come over for dinner, I made certain the door was latched so he couldn’t get out. Junior didn’t think about it when he went back, I’m sure.”

“The automatic latch was on the back door, too,” Dickce said. “Clementine always sets it when she leaves for the day. Even Diesel isn’t clever enough to open that.”

“Can I give him a few bites of roast beef?” Benjy asked.

“Sure,” Dickce said. “But only a few.”

The cat munched happily on his tidbits while Dickce and Benjy finished their work in the kitchen. Diesel padded off to the pantry, and Dickce could hear him lapping up water.

When the cat came back, they were done. “Time for bed for all of us,” Dickce said. “Would you like to take something with you in case you get hungry during the night? You didn’t seem to eat much at dinner.”

Benjy shook his head. “No, I’ll be fine. I had enough.”

“All right then. You two had better scoot off to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.” Dickce stood in the back door and watched until they were safely inside the garage apartment. She made sure the automatic lock was still on, then she dimmed the lights and headed up to her room. She nodded at the deputy on duty downstairs and bade him good night. She did the same for the two on duty upstairs as well, one at either end of the hall.

She was happy to reach the tranquility of her room. She was feeling pretty tired now herself, and she did not take long to get ready for bed. She turned off the light, adjusted her covers, and fell asleep not long after.

An’gel took her time undressing and getting ready for bed. She contemplated having a nice warm soak in her tub but decided against it. Too much effort, even for that. Instead she climbed into bed as soon as she had her nightgown on. She turned out her light and got comfortable. Yawning, she closed her eyes.

Then she opened them again. Her body was tired but her brain refused to rest. Overstimulation, she decided. What a day this had been. Dramatic, emotional scenes, another murder, enough tension to float an ocean liner—she hoped never to have such a day again for the rest of her life, however long that might be. Any more days like this, she thought with black humor, and the rest of her life wouldn’t be very long at all.

She was annoyed with herself for not being able to figure out who had killed Marla and Maudine. She was used to solving problems. In fact, she prided herself on her ability to sort out any situation she encountered. Why, then, was this so difficult to resolve?

She had two chief suspects in mind, Rosabelle and Juanita. Whatever illusions she might have had about her old sorority sister before the past day or so, they were shattered beyond repair. She had no trouble believing that Rosabelle, the single most self-absorbed person she had ever met in her long life, could have killed both Marla and Maudine. Yes, she acknowledged, Rosabelle had seemed appropriately grief-stricken at the news of Maudine’s death. Rosabelle was a superb actress, however, and the grieving mother was a role she could probably play as easily as breathing.

While she leaned heavily toward Rosabelle as the culprit, An’gel also thought that Juanita could be the killer. Juanita had behaved politely and sweetly, she had to admit, but that was what bothered her. Juanita seemed a little too sweet and polite. An’gel suspected that Juanita might be just as good an actress as her grandmother. Juanita had a compelling motive to murder her grandmother and her aunt—money. With Maudine out of the picture, Bernice’s share of their father’s trust doubled. As long as Bernice outlived Rosabelle, Juanita probably stood to inherit a fortune.

If Juanita was the killer, An’gel reckoned, Rosabelle had better watch her back. Even Bernice could be in danger, once Rosabelle was out of the way.

Was Juanita truly that ruthless?

An’gel wasn’t sure, but the girl reminded her in some ways a little too much of Rosabelle at that age. Rosabelle had been able to play the demure self-effacing type when she thought it would get her what she wanted. Was Juanita’s niceness a façade, as her grandmother’s had always been?

Money was a compelling motive for Rosabelle, too. Particularly now that her wealthy Italian husband had been revealed to be an adulterer. Rosabelle could kiss her dreams of living the rich life in Italy good-bye. She might be able to salvage something out of the divorce settlement, but An’gel doubted that Antonio would grant Rosabelle any concessions. The lawyers would have to settle it all.

If Rosabelle was the killer, then Bernice and Wade could be her next targets. Juanita and Junior should be safe. Killing them wouldn’t benefit Rosabelle monetarily.

An’gel groaned. Her head ached from all the speculation. She pushed aside the covers and went into her bathroom. She had a prescription for a mild tranquilizer that would help her get to sleep. She didn’t like taking it because she had a horror of becoming dependent on it, but tonight she felt desperate for sleep.