| |
MARY-ALICE APPRECIATED how neat the crew left her kitchen every evening. Things were put away, stacked neatly, and swept clean. Mary-Alice would make sure to compliment Boon on his crew's professionalism the next time she saw him.
Which would be in about an hour, she remembered with a start. She had nearly forgotten about their standing Saturday dinner date. Mary-Alice freshened up quickly and then took out the blank journal she had purchased at Harriet's Books. She picked up her special pen with the big sunflower on the end and sat down at the dining room table. Mary-Alice opened the journal to the first blank page, smoothed it flat, and wrote,
Ida Belle sees Victorin Lowery in her garage. (Is it really him?)
He becomes belligerent, and she shoots him just as he shoots her. (Was it he who shot her, or was it someone else? Did she really shoot him? If not, why does she think she did?)
Ida Belle comes to Fortune Morrow's house for help. When she returns to her house, the body has disappeared. (Ida Belle could have moved it herself before she came over to Fortune's. But why?)
Possible explanations:
Is Ida Belle not telling the truth? Again, why?
Victorin Lowery’s body was moved (by whom?)
Mary-Alice was getting tired of writing out Victorin Lowery’s name each time. She decided she would shorten it to Vic. This would be easy to remember, as detectives in murder mysteries often referred to the murder victim as the “vic.”
Vic was not fatally wounded and left on his own, after cleaning up his blood. (Why would he do that? How did he clean up the blood so completely that he left no trace? And where is he now?)
Ida Belle is misremembering/hallucinating. Perhaps someone has drugged her. (Why? Or accidental drug interaction?)
The body was moved by someone already wrote that (above)
The body was dissolved in something like acid or lime. (Where? Again, who moved it, and how?)
Who shot Ida Belle?
Mary-Alice drummed her peach-colored nails on the dining table and stared at the page.
It was like one of those magic tricks where you can’t possibly figure out how they did it.
Mary-Alice's doorbell rang at five minutes after six. Or, rather, it made a strangled sort of “thunk.” The doorbell was on the list of things to replace. Along with the fake-candle chandelier and the gold shag carpet. Boon St. Clair and his crew were going to be working on her house for a long time, Mary-Alice realized. Any misunderstanding would have to be straightened out sooner, rather than later.
Boon looked as handsome as ever and seemed as glad to see Mary-Alice as he always did. Mary-Alice relaxed a little. He wasn't going to ask her to marry him, or put him in her will. They were only going to have a nice dinner at Francine's.
“I thought we wouldn't go to Francine's tonight,” Boon said.
“Why ever not?”
“I thought we might could go to my house. I like to cook and I rarely get the opportunity. If that's okay with you, Miss Mary-Alice.”
“Why, of course it is, Boon. What a delightful idea.”
Boon’s place was a single-story brick house with a neat lawn, shaded all around by pecan trees. The exterior did not prepare Mary-Alice for what was inside. The living room had Roman shades of rough linen, travertine tiles, and pumpkin-hued walls. Through a doorway, Mary-Alice saw a hallway with what looked like cork flooring. An open door off the hallway revealed a bathroom done up in black-and-pink tiles.
“My,” she said. “The décor is quite something. So eclectic.”
“It’s a little bit of a hodgepodge,” he chuckled. “Sometimes I get materials left over from a job and I hate to see them go to waste. I have to pay for them anyway, so I might as well use them. Would you like me to show you around?”
Mary-Alice feared that Boon, in his enthusiasm about his house, might attempt to show her the bedrooms. Innocent though his intentions might be, that would not do at all.
“Well, as matter of fact, Boon, I’d very much enjoy a tour of the landscaping before it gets too dark. Was it my imagination, or did I spy some lovely white azaleas in the back?”
By the time they went in to dinner, Mary-Alice was feeling more at ease. Boon's motley décor made him seem adventurous and easygoing, and his neat yard indicated a conscientious and trustworthy character. Mary-Alice was also impressed by the simple meal of salad and fried fish. Soon they were chatting happily about remodeling in general, and then Mary-Alice’s house in particular. Boon mentioned that he was using apprentices from Mudbug Technical College.
“They have a new apprentice program that’s subsidized by the parish,” he said. “I’ve applied for a grant. If it comes through, it could save you a little money. Aren’t your people from Mudbug, Miss Mary-Alice?”
“I did live there for many years, although my people are in Arnaudville. I have some fond memories of Mudbug Tech myself. I took a bookkeeping class there, I don’t want to tell you how long ago. So those young ladies on your crew, they’re from that new program?”
Mary-Alice had noticed a couple of young women on the crew. It had struck her as unusual.
“Times are changing, Miss Mary-Alice, and in this particular instance, I’d say it’s for the better. Those young ladies have a work ethic that puts most of my boys to shame.”
“People do talk about how times are changing. But I have to tell you, Boon, with all the times I've visited Sinful over the years, it doesn’t feel like it’s changed at all. The old taxidermist’s shop has been there forever, hasn’t it? And in all these years, I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a single customer in there.”
“That’s very true, Miss Mary-Alice. It’s a wonder they’re still in business. One thing that has changed, unfortunately, is that lately it seems we’ve been getting more crime.”
Mary-Alice was tempted to expand on the topic of crime by telling Boon about Ida Belle’s disappearing intruder. But she decided it wouldn’t be suitable dinner conversation.
She also considered bringing up the issue of the remodeling bills and decided against that as well. Now that she was enjoying a pleasant dinner with Boon, she wondered why she'd ever been worried in the first place about things moving too fast. Why shouldn’t things move fast? Boon was thoughtful, handsome, and judging from the excellent detail work in her kitchen, very good with his hands.
“Why, Miss Mary-Alice,” Boon exclaimed, “you’re blushing. Is the fish too spicy?”
“Oh, my, no. Not at all.” Mary-Alice fanned her face, wishing she had an actual fan to hide behind. “Only I wonder if you might turn on one of those ceiling fans? It’s getting quite awfully close in here.”