Миранда Джеймс - Bless Her Dead Little Heart

Rosabelle glowered at her, and An’gel thought how much Maudine resembled her mother. “I’m glad you find my situation so humorous.”

All at once An’gel felt tired, so she went over and sat on the bed. Maybe Dickce had been right to suggest that she throw the whole clan out. Why had she even agreed to let them stay in the first place?

Because I am accustomed to thinking that I can fix anything I set my mind to , she acknowledged ruefully to herself. And in my arrogance I just might have mixed Sister and me up in something nasty .

She realized Rosabelle was still waiting for her to acknowledge her last remark. Get a hold of yourself, An’gel Ducote. You can help Rosabelle, so stop trying to borrow trouble . “I didn’t mean to make light of your plight,” she said. “You’re still tired, and I’m sure everything looks grim to you. Dickce and I will do our best to help you sort it all out, and you’ll be able to go home and not worry anymore.”

Rosabelle appeared mollified by An’gel’s reply. “That would be wonderful. I could sleep the night through without being terrified.”

“Why do you think one of them is so desperate to do away with you?” An’gel asked. “You told us that your house goes to Wade, but is that all? Would your daughters and grandchildren inherit anything significant?”

Rosabelle shook her head. “I don’t have anything to my name really, not even the house. It’s mine for my lifetime, but then it goes to Wade. I get a barely adequate income for life from a trust set up by my first husband, but I can’t touch the capital. When I’m gone, however, the trust is dissolved, and the money goes to Maudine and Bernice.” She paused. “My second husband, Wade’s father, also left me a small income from a trust. Same situation, though. When I’m dead, Wade gets everything.”

Though she had no idea how large the trusts were, An’gel suspected they were huge. Rosabelle wouldn’t have married poor men, or even moderately wealthy ones. Rosabelle liked money too much to settle for anyone less than a multimillionaire. An’gel also thought both men shrewd to set up trusts for Rosabelle; otherwise, she might have burned through the money and been left with nothing. Evidently the third husband had nothing to leave. She thought it odd Rosabelle didn’t mention him.

Now that she was aware of Rosabelle’s financial position, however, An’gel could understand why the woman was frightened. Her children and grandchildren stood to inherit significant sums of money, and one of them might be tired of waiting to get hold of it. The question was, who was the most desperate? She and Dickce would have to ascertain what they could of the younger generation’s finances.

An’gel reached over and patted Rosabelle’s hand. “Dickce and I will get to the bottom of this. In the meantime, you try to relax. I believe you’ll be safe here. I will let your family know, discreetly, of course, that Sister and I will be guarding your welfare closely.”

“Thank you,” Rosabelle said, her eyes suddenly wet. “I don’t deserve such good friends.”

An’gel forbore to respond to that comment. Instead she stood, her energy coming back. “Don’t think any more about it. I do have a question for you, however. Would you allow your granddaughter to share your room? There’s a trundle bed she can use, and we can move it across the hall to your daughters’ room if you’d prefer to be alone.”

Rosabelle shook her head. “Juanita can stay with me. She and Junior aren’t like their parents, thank the Lord. They’re both sweet and loving.” She shrugged. “Anyway, I’ll feel safer with Juanita in the room with me at night.”

“Very well, then. When you’re ready, you can let Juanita know. In the meantime I’m going downstairs to prepare iced tea for everyone. You can join us in the front parlor when you feel like it.”

Rosabelle nodded, and An’gel left her, still ensconced in the chair, staring down at her hands.

On the way to the kitchen, An’gel resolved to get to the heart of Rosabelle’s troubles quickly. She wanted the whole clan out of her house as soon as possible.

CHAPTER 6

Dickce stood still. Had she imagined the creaking floorboards overhead? Right now all she heard was the faint whirring of the air-conditioning.

One glance at Junior Pittman’s face assured her she hadn’t imagined the sounds.

She felt sweat forming on her forehead and scalp despite the cool, slightly dank air. The musty odor made her want to sneeze, and she pinched her nose to stop the tickle.

Ahead of her, Diesel slowly climbed the stairs, body low, obviously in hunting mode.

“Let me go first,” Junior whispered and motioned for her to let him pass.

Dickce stepped back, and the young man moved upward, hardly making a sound. He laid a hand on the cat’s head, and Diesel stopped. When Junior’s head reached a point where he could see the upper room through the railing, he paused.

Dickce saw his tensed shoulders relax.

“Dang it, Benjy, what the heck are you doing here?” Junior sounded exasperated.

Dickce waited on the stairs. Was the mysterious Benjy dangerous?

“I didn’t have a lot of choice. You know what my mother’s like.” The petulant tones of a young man’s voice carried down to her. Diesel chirped but didn’t move.

Junior turned to look down at Dickce and frowned. “It’s okay, ma’am. It’s only Benjy.” He disappeared from the stairway.

Diesel climbed the rest of the way up to the landing with Dickce. Her left hand rested on the newel post at the head of the stairs as she paused to catch her breath and give her pulse time to stop racing.

The apartment occupied the full second story of the garage. The bathroom was at the far end, along with a large closet. Otherwise, the space, which included a small kitchen and dining area, was open. The shabby but still serviceable furniture dated from the 1960s.

We really need to replace all this , Dickce thought, before her attention settled on the newcomer.

A youth of perhaps nineteen or twenty, clad in ragged jeans and a garishly colored T-shirt, regarded her with an uncertain smile. His shaggy blond hair, an inch past shoulder length, reminded Dickce of the pageboy style all the young people wore in the 1950s. Each ear sported two earrings, and each eyebrow had a small ring at the outer edge. Dickce was surprised there were no visible tattoos, given his other adornments and choice of clothing. He looked like young men she saw on the street whenever she and An’gel went to Memphis to shop.

Junior Pittman said, “Miss Ducote, this is Benjy Stephens, Marla’s son. Benjy, Miss Dickce Ducote.”

Benjy shook her proffered hand gently. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

“You are quite a surprise, young man,” Dickce said, her tone prim. “Before we go any further, we need more air.” How did Benjy know about the garage apartment? She marched across the room to a window that overlooked the woods behind the mansion and set the air conditioner on high.

Dickce turned back to the two men. Diesel was rubbing himself against Benjy’s legs, and the youth grinned as he scratched the cat’s head.

“Why didn’t you come in with your parents when you arrived?” Dickce felt embarrassed when she saw the layer of dust that coated everything in the apartment. Motes floated in the air, disturbed by the force of the air conditioner blower. She wasn’t thrilled to discover yet another guest, but she noted that at least Diesel seemed to approve of him. She had to wonder also whether there were any more family members who might pop up. The situation was beginning to border on the ridiculous.

Benjy’s face darkened as he pulled his hand away from Diesel. “Mom told me there probably wouldn’t be room in the house for me. She said I should stay out here. The Wart’s mother told them about the apartment over the garage, I guess.” He shrugged. “The door wasn’t locked anyway, so I figured nobody would mind.”