4 DEAD ... If Only Page 17

  “We could not afford her, mi hermana,” Tío said. Mom being his deceased younger brother’s wife, he often called her his little sister. “Last night, Cook, she tells me on the slice how much the housekeeper makes. And it is considerable.”

  “That’s ‘on the sly’, Tío,” I said, biting down on a piece of crunchy bacon. “But I like ‘on the slice’.”

  “You like anything that reminds you of food,” Gurn said with a laugh, pouring himself coffee.

  “Ah! On the sly. But that makes more sense,” Tío said. “To continue, even Cook, who does not appear to have a name, makes almost as much as I did when I run the kitchen at Las Mañanitas.”

  I put down the fork, but before I could reply Mom’s phone rang. She excused herself and took the call in one corner near a particularly lovely horse with a red plume, green saddle, and blue eyes. I watched her listen intently, close her phone, think for a moment, and come back to the table. Her brows were furrowed, very unlike her. She’s from the Botox school of thought.

  “That was one of the gentlemen we hired last night to keep the Manning home under surveillance. I think we should all take a walk there. We-know-what has been discovered.”

  “About time.” I said, tossing my napkin on the table and rising. The three men rose to their feet, as well. “When do you think ‘we-know-what’ was discovered?”

  She shook her head and opened the door to the hallway. “We’ll discuss it later.”

  * * * *

  It was three short blocks to Manning’s place, which I would have been drawn to, in any event, due to the commotion outside the house. Two cop cars with flashing lights were at the curb. Policemen stood in a small grouping on the sidewalk talking to each other. The gates to the garage were open, although the garage door was shut, and in the driveway paramedics loaded a gurney bearing a sheet-covered body into the back of an ambulance. Nearby, Detective Devereux was writing in a small notepad, deep in conversation with another paramedic.

  Everyone else in our party hung back on the sidewalk at the property line, reluctant to call attention to themselves, especially Tío. Tilting one of Richard’s caps over his face, he turned away from the house, in case the two goons from last night were anywhere around and might recognize him.

  I decided to take a chance. Pulling the brim of my sunhat down over my eyes, I went to the wrought iron fence, grabbed onto it with both hands, and shouted out.

  “Hey, Devereux, a moment of your time!”

  I figured with catching Devereux’s B&E in our room yesterday and not making any trouble for him, he owed me. Of course, if he caught me in what I did here last night, it was all over for me.

  At the sound of my voice, which has its shrill moments, every head within twenty feet snapped around and looked at me. Devereux glared for a split second, but sauntered over taking it slow and easy. Apparently, keeping me waiting was one of his greatest pleasures.

  Two young men, one tall, and one short, stood at the other end of the fence near a shady Magnolia tree. They noticed us or, rather, Gurn and moved toward him at a pretty fast clip. The shorter one reached out a hand toward Gurn with a smile.

  “Commander,” he said. “Good to see you again, sir. And thanks for the recommend.”

  “Call me Gurn, Steve. No commander stuff now.” Gurn grasped the man’s hand in a quick but friendly shake. He looked to the taller man coming up behind the other and extended his hand once more. “Lance, good to see you.”

  “Thank you, sir.” The younger man was easily over six foot six inches high and probably weighed less than me. He had a shy way about him, but a ready smile.

  Gurn looked over at the snail-like approach of the detective in my direction and stepped in the middle of the two men. “Gentlemen, let’s take a walk.” He led the way across the street, and they followed. Once standing on the far sidewalk, all three men began to converse.

  “Well, look who’s showed up,” Devereux said, when he finally arrived at the other side of the fencing.

  He glanced over at Mom, Tío, and Richard deep in their own conversation and half hidden behind another Magnolia tree. There was a lot of grouping going on. I think it’s sort of a tribal thing. When time demands certain tasks be done by someone else, before anything can be done by you, people tend to cluster around an invisible water cooler. As for me, I wanted a tribal chit-chat with the detective.

  Devereux’s face wore a slight sneer, but now it seemed to come more from habit than intent. His eyes actually held amusement instead of rancor.

  I think he knew I’d dropped the idea of breaking and entering charges against him, if I’d ever intended to file them, and he had a modicum of gratitude. I think. With this guy, one never knew. He seemed awfully eager to rip away the crime scene tape yesterday morning. Basically, was he a good guy or a bad guy? Quien sabe?

  He went on, “Another death in the Big Easy and can the Alvarez Clan be far behind?”

  “Yeah, yeah,” I said, with a dismissive air. “But what’s going on, Devereux? You know whose place this is?”

  “I know whose place you say it is, but according to our records, Dennis Manning is long dead. This is the home of Mr. and Mrs. Samuel Randolph.”

  He stared at me. I stared back. Good gawd, next to him molasses broke speed limits.

  “And?” I finally asked.

  “All right.” He gave out a small laugh. “I’ll tell you and then I want you and the rest of the Alvarez’s to take a hike. You’re contaminating the place.”

  “Crudely said, but it’s a deal.”

  “We got a call early this morning. Mrs. Randolph was found in her bed by the maid, dead from an apparent drug overdose.”

  And what was your big clue? The needle sticking out of her arm? “No! Drug overdose, you say?”

  “Yes, but don’t ask me of what exactly. I don’t know.”

  I do. Heroin. “How long has she been dead?”

  “We don’t know yet. We’re on the lookout for two people claiming to be chefs looking for work that showed up here around eight o’clock last night.”

  Uh-oh. “No kidding. Where’s Mr. Randolph? Inside?”

  “We don’t know where he is. He’s not here. Nobody is. Now blast off. And I mean it, before I arrest you for loitering.”

  I backed up holding my hands in a surrender gesture then I waved goodbye. This time un-amused, he turned away from the fence and went back to the paramedic.

  I raced back to Lila, Richard and Tío hovering on the sidelines. Tío was the first to speak.

  “So this Manning, where is he? Inside the house?”

  My uncle looked behind us at the large three-story house. We all followed his gaze. With the exception of the constabulary business of carting the body off to the morgue, it was as if the house was totally empty.

  “According to Devereux, Manning’s not around,” I said. “Or else he was deliberately leading me astray. When I asked him about the man’s whereabouts, his exact words were ‘we don’t know where he is’. I don’t believe Manning was here last night, either. He would have shown himself.”

  “I don’t like this,” Lila commented.

  Richard opened his phone.

  “What are you doing?” I asked, as he pounded on rather than touched his screen.

  “I’m finding my notes. Okay, the research I did on the inhabitants of the house showed Manning, his wife, two servants and two bodyguards. Unfortunately, her cell phone gave me little, other than the last number she called, which we think was his.”

  “Not sure?”

  “Unclear. I can’t track it and I’ve tried everything.”

  I thought for a moment. “He might have dumped the phone. So where is everybody? Even the dog is missing.”

  Tío looked at me. “Do I not hear barking coming from inside the garage?”

  I glanced in the direction of Gurn and the two men talking. “It sounds like a neighbor’s dog, Tío.” I looked in Gurn’s direction. “I sure hope Gurn’s got more informatio
n.”

  As if hearing my words, Gurn broke free from his huddle, crossed the street on a diagonal, and headed for us. The two men disappeared into a car and drove away.

  “Get this,” he said as he strode within hearing range. “Seems Lance has a way with the gentler sex.”

  “Who? The beanpole?” I looked behind him at the two men getting into newish Range Rover.

  “Liana, there is no need to be unkind.” Lila jumped in with a raised eyebrow in my direction.

  I turned on her. “What? He’s over six foot six and weighs about three pounds. And he isn’t within hearing range.”

  “Nonetheless,” Mom continued in her vein of reprimand.

  “Honestly, Mom, I --”

  “Ladies, ladies.” Gurn raised his voice in protest. “Don’t you want to know what I learned?”

  “You will find that when la familia is under the pressure,” Tío said, with a smile. “They have much to say to one another having nothing to do with the business at hand.”

  “Do we do that, Tío?” I was shocked.

  “Lee, please!” Gurn’s voice was sharp. “Let me tell you what went down.”

  “Sorry.”

  “’Beanpole,’” he said, with a nod toward me, “got friendly with the maid, a girl no more than twenty, who found the body this morning.”

  “I think she’s the one we saw last night trying to make espresso,” I interjected.

  Gurn went on as if I hadn’t interrupted him. “He saw her tear out of the house and run across the street screaming, so Lance caught up with her. He palmed himself off as a real estate agent just passing by, who wanted nothing more than to console her. She was scared and hysterical, so willing to talk.”

  “I can see being hysterical, but why scared?” I questioned this because it puzzled me.

  “The girl had only been working there three weeks. She gave her notice day before yesterday, even though she got paid more money than ever before. Said it was the worst place she’d ever been in her life. Her boss made a pass at her, she was scared of the dog, and her dead mistress used to stay in her room for days at a time doing drugs and listening to Wyclef Jean. That’s how come the body wasn’t discovered until this morning. When the maid went in to make the bed, she found Pamela Manning stiff as a board lying face up to the ceiling, the needle and syringe still in her arm. But here’s something interesting. Guess who was here yesterday afternoon for a quick visit, and left in such a hurry a fence post got knocked over?”

  There was a pause, while everyone pondered this question.

  “Felicity Llewellyn,” Lila and I said in unison.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Life Happens While You’re Making Other Plans

  We hotfooted it back to Felicity Llewellyn’s home. Once we made sure she still hadn’t returned, Gurn and I left the family to pack up and join us at the safe house tout de suite. That’s French for move your duff; this could get ugly. However involved with Manning Mrs. Llewellyn was, a shoot-out with one’s hostess was not done in Lila’s circles, Mom being more or less on the conservative side.

  Instead, we opted for a quick departure and a ‘plans changed’ missive left with a confused Delphine. We decided the Alvarez Clan should do a disappearing act for a day or two from everybody, even the Feds.

  “I wonder how much the FBI knows?” I glanced over at Gurn maneuvering the car down a one-way street several blocks from our destination. “Do you think they know about Manning and Llewellyn?”

  “I would say not much gets by them, Lee. But this sure got by me. I wonder where the lady in question is?”

  “With Manning, I suppose. But maybe not. She still has her social obligations in New Orleans. Richard will find out with a few fast searches. If she’s legitimately doing something for the Governor’s Ball, we’ll know soon.”

  “What made you and your mother suspect her of being involved in this?” He stopped at a red light and looked over at me.

  “That’s the best explanation for how Manning’s been a step ahead of us the whole time. And Mom’s been wondering why Mrs. Llewellyn invited them to stay with her. She and Mom had a passing acquaintance in Palo Alto, nothing more. Yet Mrs. Llewellyn insisted they come, especially once she heard Vicki was opening her new shop in the French Quarter.”

  “Makes sense, Lee. Richard said Manning was known as quite a ladies’ man before and during his marriage.” Gurn depressed the gas pedal and the car eased forward, only to stop several feet behind a large garbage truck. “They probably traveled in the same social circles in Palo Alto, especially before her husband died. From what Richard tells me, maybe that’s why the widow Llewellyn moved here shortly after Manning disappeared.”

  “And she’s got money up the wazoo all of a sudden, maybe from being a partner in a child porno ring. Mom became suspicious about a tie-in last night. That’s why she didn’t want to talk about any of this over breakfast. She thinks Mrs. Llewellyn knew about Richard’s marriage to the sister of one of Manning’s victims, so when Vicki was coming here to open her shop, she and Manning probably wanted to keep tabs on things.

  “You’re right. Maybe Felicity Llewellyn even had the library bugged.”

  “She certainly laid it open to us, tea and all.”

  “What is going on?” Gurn tensed up and looked out the windshield with about as much ill humor as I’ve ever seen in him. “Oh, man, the crowds are revving up again for another football game. We’ll never get through.”

  I looked out at the scene, having paid little attention to it before. Hundreds of people, dressed in variations of the New Orleans Saints costumes, clamored around us, hopping on and off the sidewalk and into the street.

  Even at the early hour, many were holding drinks in their hands, having a fine time and probably an early morning buzz. I reached for the door handle, preparing to get out of the car.

  “Look, you go ahead and find a place to park. I’ll get out here. It’s only a half a block to the apartment and I want to get it ready before the family shows up. I’ve got the keys.”

  “It’s just for a couple of nights and there are two sets of twin beds, bunk beds, and a pull-out sofa. What’s to get ready?”

  “I know, but it’s going to be a tight squeeze and I don’t even know where the extra sheets are.”

  He shrugged and smiled at me. “That apartment slept six before, but it was six guys. It’s different with women, so whatever you think best.” He crooked his neck, looking up through the windshield at the sky. “I don’t like those clouds up there. It wants to rain, as my mother would say, and maybe more.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Weatherman.”

  I bounded out of the car before he could comment on my comment and headed toward the apartment building. Able to move faster by foot, I picked my way through the throngs of happy people. About four doors from the apartment, I saw the back of a black man standing on the sidewalk, the crowds walking around his stationary body. He was pivoting in a slow three hundred and sixty degree turn looking for something or someone. Within a split second, I recognized his profile as one of the two men from Colbert’s Motors. I squatted down behind a parked car wondering what he was doing here. Was it just a coincidence or was he looking for me?

  After about thirty seconds, I peered around the fender and the gargantuous butt of an older man wearing plaid Jamaica shorts. I couldn’t see my mark; I couldn’t see much of anything with Mr. Butt in the way.

  With the crowd’s ebb and flow, my mark could have been anywhere. I rose and scurried along the sidewalk, weaving in and out of citizens until I saw him walking about thirty yards ahead me approaching Bourbon Street. I followed at an easy pace.

  Just as he was nearing Preservation Hall, he suddenly glanced behind him and looked directly at me. Sad to say, criminals have a sixth sense, too, not just us good guys. Once he saw me, his reaction was about as big as they get, along the lines of Little Red Riding Hood spotting the Big Bad Wolf. He started running, pushing his way through the crowds.
So did I. Run, push, run, push. It’s in the job description.

  A cleaning crew was coming out of Preservation Hall carrying buckets, brooms, and garbage cans. Saturday night is a big party night in this town and Sunday is cleanup day. My man saw the open gate and shoved two workers aside to dash inside the courtyard of the Hall.

  I jumped over one of the men still lying on the ground with a quick apology and followed my man into the small courtyard. Right away you could tell there was no back exit. I felt a momentary gloat. I didn’t have to draw my gun, because I have a black belt in Karate. If we’re toe to toe and you’re not armed – and even sometimes if you are - look out, brother. You’re mine.

  I sprung at him. He surprised me by leaping away and on top of the lid of a garbage can. Young, nimble and desperate, he climbed up the side of an eight-foot, stucco wall separating the Hall from the next building. He threw himself onto the roof of the shed on the other side.

  He’d knocked the garbage can on its side when he pushed off, and it took me a few precious seconds to upright the damn thing. I jumped on it, made a dive for the top of the wall, and tried to pull myself up. Desperate, yes. Young and nimble, not so much.

  When I made a lunge for the top of the wall, I knocked the lid off the garbage can, and lost my left shoe to its inner contents. But I hung on and managed to pull myself up, feeling the burn in my arms. I threw my legs over the top of the shed and got to my half-shod feet.

  Puddles of water from the day before gathered in pools on the uneven tar top, and were sopped up by the fabric of my new dress. I looked down at it, wet, muddy, disheveled, and found the bonus of a small rip in the hemline. I gotta get me hazard insurance.

  My man had already scrambled down the other side and was nearing the base of the tree I’d admired earlier from our bedroom window. I kicked off my other shoe for balance and jumped down from the shed in hot pursuit, but he was too far ahead of me. I saw him run across the yard, circle around, and into the open back door of one of the neighborhood businesses.