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Carter and I waited in front of Emma’s house. By half past four Victor and Bessie still had not arrived.
“I can’t believe she’s gone,” I said, looking toward the house. “Look at this place. It’s lovely. She was sprucing it up nicely.”
Carter nodded, “I agree. I didn’t know Emma well but from what I gather she was taking a lot of interest in her home, yard, and garden. It showed.”
I touched his arm lightly, “Thank you for what you’re doing. I know you don’t believe in it.”
He squeezed my hand.
“It looks cut and dried,” he admitted, “but you’ve surprised me before. Even if there’s only one chance in a hundred we discover something unusual, I think we owe it to Emma’s memory to find it.”
“Thank you,” I replied.
“Fortune, I don’t think we should unduly worry Victor and Bessie Bloom about your suspicions,” Carter said.
“I agree completely. We know nothing for certain yet.”
“The chances are still high that Emma’s death was caused by a simple heart attack,” he said.
I was just about ready to respond when I saw a Toyota Prius turning the corner and pulling into Emma’s drive.
I got my first glimpse of Victor Bloom as he literally squeezed his way out of the Prius. I knew he was younger than Emma, about sixty-five, but I didn’t realize how large he was. I placed him generously at about five feet seven inches tall, and even more generously at two hundred and eighty pounds. It was possible he tipped the scales at over three hundred. Most of the weight centered below his chest, around his belly, butt, and thighs.
I waved at him. He offered a courtesy wave and a small smile, displaying a gap between his two center teeth. He also sported a closely trimmed white beard. It appeared as though the act of getting out of the car was causing him to sweat, and I suspected he was regretting the decision to wear a cream-colored sports-coat with heavy brown trousers. He removed his tan fedora, revealing a full head of wispy white hair. It was damp with perspiration.
Bessie opened the passenger door and got out slowly. Victor and Bessie were twins but you would have never guessed it by looking at them standing side by side. Bessie was no larger than Gertie by my guess. She was barely five feet one and wore a size zero dress. Her hair was dark gray, streaked in black; she had it pulled back into a bun. Her dress was slate blue with a red and pink rose print. She wore light makeup. She looked rather elegant.
I noticed Victor didn’t bother to wait for Bessie to make her way around the car. She was slow and deliberate. For Victor’s obvious weight issues, he seemed rather nimble on his feet. He approached Carter and I directly and extended a pudgy hand.
“How do you do?” he said, shaking Carter’s hand. “I’m Victor Bloom.”
“Carter Le Blanc,” came the reply as he shook Victor’s hand. “How was your flight?”
“We survived it . . . barely. You know you are in trouble when the flight attendant tells you the meal choices are yes or no.”
Carter chuckled.
Victor’s voice was a clear baritone, heavily British in accent, with every word enunciated. Ida Belle was spot on with her Downton Abby analogy.
“I’m sorry we’re running late,” Victor said. “It was a difficult flight and then there was the long drive from New Orleans. We stopped at an eatery with a most unfortunate name—The Lick Skillet Diner, I believe it was. I’m afraid the food disagreed with my stomach—such a horrible place.”
Carter shrugged, “Horrible? Really? The food there actually has an appeal to its regular customers.”
“Regular customers? Oh, those would be the alligators in these parts, I suspect. Really, I’m sure if the cook ever bothered to actually taste the food he was preparing, he’d lose his nerve to serve it,” Victor said. “But, alas, the fault is my own—the first clue was in the establishment’s name itself.”
Carter smiled, choosing not to respond to Victor’s one-star review of The Lick Skillet. He gestured toward me. “This is Fortune Morrow,” he continued.
Victor nodded and smiled, offering me his hand, “Ah, the beautiful town librarian,” he said. “You’re even lovelier than the reputation which precedes you. I’ve heard so much about you from Emma—all of it glowing. I must thank you for being so kind to my sister. Emma loved to read, and you made it so much easier for her with your generosity. I know she enjoyed the pleasure of your company.”
“It was my pleasure,” I replied, shaking his hand. I was seeing what Celia appreciated about him. He was handsome, dignified, witty and charming.
Victor gestured toward his sister, “And this wisp of a creature, moving at the speed of a tectonic plate, is my loving twin sister, Bessie.”
“Oh my god, it is so bloody muggy out here,” Bessie said, fanning herself as she approached. Her accent was also very proper, very British. “Is it always this way?”
Carter nodded, extending his hand, “In the summer, almost always, I’m afraid.”
“I just slapped away a mosquito large enough to carry away a toy poodle,” she complained.
“Yep, we grow em’ big down here,” Carter said.
“Of the thousands of rental cars available, Victor had to find the one with a broken air conditioner,” she said, flashing a scowl in his direction.
“Perhaps the drive would have been more pleasurable if there was less hot air emanating from the passenger seat,” Victor retorted.
“Hush, you old donk,” she snapped.
“I’m so sorry about Emma,” I interjected.
“As were we all. She should have moved home to Vermont, like we asked her to,” Bessie said sharply.
“This was home for her,” I replied. “It’s where she raised her family. She was a sweet, kind woman.”
“She was all that and more,” Victor agreed. “She was also a troubled soul. She spoke so highly of you, Fortune, and I also know about your role in solving the murder of my niece, Glory, after all these years. Bessie and I can’t thank you enough. It may not have appeared so, outwardly, but it released her from such a heavy burden.”
“It was my pleasure, and I enjoyed Emma’s company very much,” I told him. “I miss her so much.”
“You’re too kind,” he said, smiling.
“Come on, Victor,” Bessie snarked. “Let’s get our bags and get out of this heat. The sooner we get inside the sooner you can start looking for strip clubs.”
Victor laughed nervously, “My loving sister has an acerbic wit.”
“Let’s move, you old tosser,” Bessie snipped. “I’m hot.”
Victor squinted and scowled at her.
“We haven’t gotten the house key yet, dear sister.”
“Oh, I almost forgot,” Carter said, reaching into this front pocket. He pulled out a sheet of paper and Emma’s house key and handed them both to Victor. “I took the liberty of jotting down the address of the funeral home, the name and address of the church she attended, the pastor’s name and contact information, and my name and number, too. If you need anything, please call me.”
“And I’ll give you my name and number, too.” I added. “If I can do anything at all to help you with . . . the arrangements, please feel free to call me.”
“A most generous offer,” Victor replied. “You are both too kind.”
I heard a screeching noise from a distance. The wail was loud and annoying. Without looking up, I knew exactly where it came from, rather, who it came from. Celia Arceneaux had arrived. She was calling out from half a block away, walking toward us.
“Yoo hoo, Victor!” she yelled out in a sing-song fashion.
“How did she know they’d be here, now?” I whispered to Carter. “Did you actually tell her?”
He shook his head and whispered back, “Nope, but I’m not surprised. She has little birds everywhere.”
I nodded, watching Celia as she approached.
Victor turned and saw Celia waving and walking toward him at a quick pace. She was still more than twenty yards away. Victor gave her an obligatory smile and then turned toward Carter, rolling his eyes and forming a huge frown on his face.
“I see you’ve already met Celia,” Carter responded, smirking a little.
“Oh, dear god, save me,” Victor groaned, under his breath.
“Victor!” Celia cried out again, still fifteen yards away, and closing fast. “It’s me! It’s Celia.”
Victor groaned and rolled his eyes again.
“Deputy LeBlanc, is your firearm loaded?” he asked in a low voice.
Carter looked puzzled, “Yes, why?”
“Could you please just shoot me now?” he asked. He looked at Celia again, then back at Carter. “Better still, shoot her.”
Carter shrugged, “Don’t tempt me.”
I tried not to but couldn’t help it. I chuckled out loud. I put my hand over my mouth and turned away so Celia wouldn’t catch me laughing.
Bessie leaned in toward Victor, and nodded toward Celia, who was rapidly approaching. “Who is she, again?” she whispered.
“It’s that dreadful Arceneaux woman,” he replied in a low mumble. “We met her when we were here last, remember? It was a profoundly unpleasant experience.”
“That sounds like the Celia I know,” I admitted.
Carter shrugged and nodded, too.
“I don’t remember her,” Bessie said.
“She was the one who was dressed like Queen Elizabeth would dress if she shopped at the Salvation Army,” he replied.
Bessie nodded, “Ah, yes, I do remember, now. She’s the one who never shuts up.”
“Yep, that’d be her,” Carter said.
“Here she is, now,” I whispered lowly.
Victor turned toward Celia, a feigned smile spread across his face, “Ah, Celia, words cannot begin to describe what it’s like to see you again.” He graciously shook her hand. Bessie was less subtle, extending her hand but not forming even a hint of a smile.
Celia obviously missed the verbal jab from Victor, “It’s so good to see you both,” she said. “I was heartbroken to hear about Emma.”
“Yes, of course,” Victor replied. “It’s such a shame when someone like Emma dies when there are others so much more deserving of the fate. Wouldn’t you agree?”
I chuckled aloud. Carter frowned at me.
“Oh, I do,” Celia said, the second jab also flying over her head.
“I’m very sorry, Celia,” Victor said. “I just arrived and I’m quite busy. I’m afraid I must go now. Perhaps you could come back tomorrow.”
“Oh, I guess so,” Celia replied. “What time will you be here?”
“I won’t,” he said.
She paused, a little taken back, but still not fully connecting.
“Will you be in town long, Victor?” Celia asked, recovering quickly.
“Oh, I sincerely hope not,” he replied.
Celia frowned. Carter did, too. I could tell that Carter was feeling the insults were beginning to cross a line. Victor must have sensed it. He tried to recover, “What I meant to say was that, funeral arrangements can be such a tedious and depressing activity. I can only hope Bessie and I can muddle through it all quickly and efficiently with as little pain as possible.”
“I know exactly what you mean, Victor,” Celia responded, nodding thoughtfully. “That’s why I’m here. I’m here to help.”
“Oh, dear god... no!” Victor barked, a little too loudly.
“What?” Celia asked.
“I mean... thank you... but no, that won’t be necessary,” Victor said in a lower voice, trying to retain a modicum of civility, but not doing so well.
“But I insist,” Celia said. “And I’d like to speak with you about a project I was working on with Emma before she passed. She was very excited about it.”
Victor sighed loudly right in front of Celia. I could almost see his remaining level of patience dissipating, like smoke from a campfire rising into the night sky.
He turned toward Bessie, “Well, that didn’t take long, now did it?”
Bessie rolled her eyes and shook her head.
“What didn’t take long?” Celia asked innocently, her smile beginning to fade.
“This project—this would be the statue of the dead Confederate general on a horse, I presume?”
“Why yes,” Celia said, beaming. “Emma told you about it?”
“Yes, she went into great detail about it over the phone,” Victor replied, his tone becoming harsher with each passing exchange.
“Then you know how interested she was,” Celia said.
“Exactly the opposite, actually. I’m afraid you have misinterpreted Emma’s willingness to listen to your tireless rants, for actual interest. My poor, deceased sister had an obsessively polite nature. As you have undoubtedly noticed, that is not a family trait that was passed on to me.”
Celia’s smile fully disappeared.
“I’m not sure what you’re saying, Victor,” she said.
“I’m sorry. I can see that my feeble attempts at being polite have gotten me nowhere—it’s so unnatural for me,” he replied. “To be clear, there would be no reason for us to speak further about your project because Emma actually had no interest in it whatsoever.”
“That’s not true,” Celia said. “She was going to write me a check this week.”
“No, she wasn’t,” Bessie said, piping in.
“What? Wha . . . Are you both calling me a liar?” Celia snapped.
“Ah, I see we’ve finally made our first real connection,” Victor replied. “Celia, my dear sister, Emma, had such a difficult time telling people anything she thought might hurt their feelings. Bessie and I have no such predilection.”
“There’s no need to insult me,” she said.
“I wasn’t insulting you, madam. I was simply describing you.”
Clearly, Celia was hurt and humiliated, but I had to hand it to her, she didn’t give up easily.
“Well, what about you?” Celia asked in total desperation. “Do you think you might have some interest?”
“Me? If such a thing were possible, I’d have even less interest than none,” Victor replied, dryly.
Although the situation was becoming more awkward by the minute, a part of me was enjoying watching Celia squirm. It must have shown on my face. Carter shot me a foul look again.
Celia’s face formed a look of deep disappointment, “I see,” she said.
“And although we do appreciate the offer to help us with the funeral arrangements, we must respectfully decline,” Bessie added. “There is no need to trouble you.”
“But, I don’t mind,” Celia began. “Really, I was thinking you and I could spend a little time more together and . . .”
Victor raised his hand to stop her.
“Allow me to put this differently. My ultimate goal would be to spend less time with you, not more. ‘None’ would actually be best for me.”
“I see,” Celia said. Her face reddened, “You are a horrible human being, Victor Bloom.”
“Madam, I have been called far worse things by far better people . . .”
“And on multiple occasions,” Bessie added.
“Thank you, Bessie,” Victor snipped.
“Well, I guess I’m not wanted?” Celia said, nearly in tears.
Victor glanced at Bessie and smiled.
“Don’t you just love the way she states the obvious with such a sense of discovery?” Victor rejoined.
“I was counting on her contribution,” Celia said, thoroughly deflated. “Without it, my project may not be possible.”
“And the people of Sinful will thank me later, I’m certain,” Victor said.
“Mr. Bloom,” Carter called out. “Please.”
“That’s enough,” Bessie chimed in. “The deputy is right. As usual, you’ve gone way too far. You’ve made your point. It’s time to shut up now.”
“But, of course,” Victor replied, a small smile reforming on his face.
Celia’s face flushed as she looked down, clearly humiliated. She glanced in my direction with a wicked stare. If Celia’s eyes were equipped with heat vision, I would have melted instantly. She walked away. By virtue of my presence alone, Celia somehow managed to blame me for the entire exchange, I was certain of it.
I watched her walking down the sidewalk, making a failed effort to hold her head high. I never thought I’d say this, but I actually felt sorry for her. I’d recently took pleasure in watching her screaming around in terror when Gertie set her housecoat on fire, with her wearing it, and now I was feeling badly for her. It was obvious that Carter felt the same—even more so than me. Once Celia was clearly out of earshot, he turned to Victor.
“Mr. Bloom, with all due respect, anyone in town who knows me will tell you that I am no fan of Celia Arceneaux,” Carter said.
“I’m shocked beyond belief, Deputy,” Victor replied. “I do sense a . . . but . . . coming.”
“You’re right. I’m not certain how the people in Vermont treat each other,” Carter added. “In the South, we try to treat each other with courtesy and respect.”
Victor relaxed and let out a breath.
“Please, allow me to explain. When Bessie and I were here last, Celia found the need to attach herself to me, along with her unending espousals, vomiting endless platitudes, primarily about herself. At the time I was admonished by Emma to hold my tongue and not retaliate. She was quite insistent. I honored her request because she had to live in this . . . land that time forgot. Emma is no longer with us and I no longer care if I offend Celia. I tried to be civil with her—you heard me. She’s not the type of person who is willing to take a hint very easily. A more direct approach was my only option. I’m sorry deputy, but she is a foul woman.”
I nodded, “Yep, he knows Celia, alright.”
Carter flashed me another disapproving look. I raised both hands, palms out and took a step back, as if to say, “Okay, I’ll shut up.”
He turned to Victor, “But, in Sinful, we . . .”
“Deputy Carter,” Victor interrupted in a loud whisper. “Please accept my apologies for my rudeness and abject dismissal of Celia. At the risk of offending you as well, let me explain my position clearly and succinctly. I don’t like this town; I don’t like the heat; I don’t like the humidity; I don’t like the food, and, present company excluded of course, I don’t like the people. As far as I’m concerned, the mosquitoes, the alligators, the snakes and all the other slithering, buggy creatures can have the whole bloody thing. I’m not interested in making friends or exchanging pleasantries. What I’d really like to do is make my sister’s funeral arrangements, sell this house, handle her affairs, and then be off like a thief in the night. After that, you will never have to see me again.”
“Suits me,” Carter replied, in an uncharacteristically smug tone.
“He’s sorry, he really is,” Bessie said.
Carter was fuming inside. He looked Victor in the eye for what seemed like a long while, before finally speaking.
“Mr. Bloom, that sounds like a plan—good day,” he finally said, walking away.
I followed Carter.
“Miss Fortune, it was indeed very pleasant to meet you,” Victor said to me as I was walking away.
I turned and managed a small smile and wave.
On the way home, Carter, who is usually guarded with his personal opinions, voiced his displeasure.
“I don’t like him or her,” he said.
“They were a little smug,” I admitted.
“They were downright rude, is what they were,” Carter rejoined.
“They were, yes, though I have to admit, I did enjoy seeing Celia being put in her place,” I said. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen her speechless before.”
Carter, eyes on the road, paused for a long time, before the beginnings of a smile formed on his face.
“It was a little funny, I guess,” he admitted. “But Celia was crushed. There was no call for all that.”
“He only said what so many of us have been thinking,” I argued, “but more eloquently and with a much better vocabulary.”
Carter shrugged and nodded, “That’s true, I suppose.”
“I mean, before she got there, you and I both got in our little jabs about Celia,” I pointed out.
“That was different,” he snapped. “What we said was . . . was . . .”
“Behind her back?” I finished.
He shrugged and sighed, “Touché,”
“And you know as well as I do, Celia was after Emma’s money for her pet community project,” I added. “I spoke with Emma about it, myself. I know Emma wanted to reject the proposal. She just didn’t want to hurt Celia’s feelings. Celia completely misrepresented Emma’s level of interest. I was happy Victor put the kibosh on it right away.”
“Yeah, me too,” Carter admitted, again.
He nodded as he pulled into my driveway, pulling to a stop.
“What do you want me to do?” Carter said.
“Nothing. I’m just saying, let’s give Victor and Bessie the benefit of the doubt and help them get through this visit,” I replied. “For the sake of Emma’s memory.”
He thought for a moment and nodded, then smiled. He leaned over and kissed me.
“Would you like to come in for a bit?” I asked.
“I’d love to but I have a few more hours on shift. Gotta go.”
“Call me later, then?” I asked.
“I’m looking forward to it.”
I waved and watched Carter pull away. I looked at my watch; it was four-forty p.m. A thought hit me. The bank was still open. I ran into the house, into the kitchen and opened a drawer where I stored my mail. Sifting through the pile, I found what I was looking for; a check made out to me from Emma Peterson, for one dollar and twenty cents.
I hopped in the car and headed to the bank, hoping I could get there before it closed. I made it with seven minutes to spare.
Three weeks earlier Emma had made out the small check to me to cover a library late fee on a book she was reading. I told her I didn’t mind paying the nominal late fee, but she insisted. I never bothered cashing the check.
But now that I was beginning to have concerns about her financial affairs, I decided to cash it, a wild attempt on my part to see if I could uncover anything, anything at all, unusual. I walked up to the teller and presented the check.
The teller, a twentyish petite thing with long brown hair and a bored look on her face, looked at the check quizzically. She popped her gum.
“Is this it?” she asked.
“It is,” I replied.
She punched keys on her computer keyboard and then looked back at me, “I’m sorry ma’am. This check is drawn on an account that has insufficient funds.”
“What?” I replied. “She just wrote it.”
“The check is dated three weeks ago,” the teller replied.
“She closed her account?”
“No, there just isn’t any money in it.”
“How can that be?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” she said, “and I wouldn’t be able to discuss another client’s account with you, anyway.”
“You are already discussing it,” I said.
“No, I wasn’t,” she replied.
“You just told me there was no money in the account,” I pointed out. “How is that not discussing it?”
She rolled her eyes at me and popped her gum again, “Whoops,” she snarked.
“Is your manager here?” I asked.
“He left at four-thirty,” she replied.
“Of course, he did.”
“Ma’am, you seem unusually upset over one dollar and twenty cents,” she said.
“Thank you for being no help whatsoever,” I snapped.
She frowned as I left.
I wasn’t certain what to make of it, but it was interesting that Emma’s account had no money in it. Had Victor done this so soon?
At home, I slipped into my running clothes and headed to the lake, running an extra mile over my normal route. Back home, I took a long bath and then made myself a light dinner salad.
At seven o’clock I called Gertie. I could tell from her voice, I would not get good news.
“Were you able to speak to the Smiths?” I asked.
“Yes, between Ida Belle and myself, we spoke to all her neighbors,” Gertie said. “No one saw any visitors coming or going to or from Emma Peterson’s house, but . . .”
“But what?”
“It seems Celia Arceneaux was going door to door on Friday evening, seeking support and donations for her statue project. She spoke to the Smiths for over twenty minutes. I guess the Smiths are one of the very few couples donating to her community project.”
“Celia Arceneaux was in Emma’s neighborhood on Friday evening?” I repeated.
“Yep,” Gertie said. “She was at the Smith’s around five o’clock. Then she stopped by the Johnson’s at five-twenty. She was also at the Fitzgerald’s home around five-forty-five.”
“Holy crap,” I replied. “You know darn well she would have stopped by Emma’s house, too. And it fits the timeline.”
“Fortune, when I asked earlier if you had someone in mind . . . it was Celia, wasn’t it?”
Gertie had busted me. I knew Celia was a little desperate to get funding for her project, and I knew Emma had no interest in it, but had been keeping her at arm’s length. What flashed through my mind was that Celia pushed too hard, Emma told her no and the rejection set her off.
“The thought crossed my mind,” I admitted, “but Celia wouldn’t commit murder . . . would she?”
Gertie didn’t answer.