“We have a search warrant,” Billy said.
Zelda stood in her doorway holding a cup of coffee. She had on an emerald green wrapper and nothing underneath. Even barefoot she was five foot seven or eight, a tall woman, same as the cab driver had described.
“You didn’t need a search warrant last night, did you, Officer Billy?” she said, and smirked.
A detective behind him cleared his throat. Frankie, standing beside him, produced the warrant. Zelda reached out for it, scanned it, and frowned.
“What’s this about clothing? And you know the derringer and my car are at Airlee.”
“You’ve been served,” he said. “Please step aside.”
Her chin lifted. She threw open the door, her robe parting as the door crashed into the wall. A flash of breast showed before she could snatch her robe closed. She stepped back. “Come in, you son of a bitch. Search the goddamned house. Have a party.”
“Calm down or we’ll put you in the back of a squad car,” Frankie said.
“You and who else?” Zelda’s cloud of hair moved about her head as if it was electrified.
Billy eased in front of Frankie. “Ms. Taylor can wait on the sofa while we do the search.” He raised his brows at Zelda.
“I want to get dressed first,” she said.
A woman officer followed Zelda into the bedroom. They returned in minutes, Zelda with her hair held back in a clip, without makeup, her lips and cheeks pale.
A detective had begun digging through boxes in the front hall closet—Christmas tree lights, umbrellas, hats, and gloves. Another detective went to the back hall to lower the attic’s fold-down stairs. The rest of the team searched from a list—a field coat, a blue sweater, shoes and boots, and firearms, specifically a .32 derringer.
Billy and Frankie entered Zelda’s bedroom and saw the blue sweater draped over the back of a chair. Frankie checked the neckline for a label. “It’s the same except for the buttons. These are wooden. The ones on Caroline’s are mother of pearl.” She bagged the sweater and took it to the tech to be labeled.
Perfume wafted off the dresses and blouses in Zelda’s closet as he sorted through them. He squatted on his heels to poke through a row of high-heeled leather boots, sandals, and running shoes. Four shoeboxes marked Christian Louboutin contained expensive-looking heels with red soles. He reached into the back of the closet and brought out a pair of short leather boots, lace-up, flat-heeled, and covered in mud.
His heart sank.
Frankie came up behind him. “Paddock boots. They look like Dehners.”
He found the small cloth tab on the side with that name. “How did you know?”
“My father thought he could make up for ignoring me with riding lessons and a show horse. If you ride English, you wear paddock boots. Dehners last forever. Have you checked the heel pattern?”
He turned the boot over. Mud caked the heel and sole. He went to the bathroom and used a pocketknife to scrape mud into the toilet. The footwear examiner would compare the boot heel to the impression taken at the site. The lab would compare the mud to the bison field.
“Billy, look at this.”
Frankie was standing in the doorway, an officer behind her. He held up a coat with brass snaps, a corduroy collar, and blue tartan lining. Billy had seen a hundred coats like it on city folks coming in the diner after quail hunts and dove shoots. It’s a classic style made of cotton and rubbed with wax to make it waterproof.
She took it from the officer. “We found this in the laundry room closet. There’s mud on the front.” She gestured toward the boot. “You think the heel impression is a match?”
He studied the ridges on the heel. “We have a winner.”
They went to the living room. Zelda was seated on the sofa holding a book she wasn’t reading. She came to her feet when she saw them.
“All done?” she asked.
“We have a few questions,” he said. “How did these boots and coat get muddy?”
She looked puzzled. “I wear those to the barn when I’m at Airlee. The coat I wear on dove shoots. I guess I should’ve cleaned them up.”
Frankie held up the sweater. “Caroline has one like this.”
“Aunt Gracie Ella knitted them as Christmas gifts. So what?”
“Zelda, we’re taking you into custody until we sort some things out,” he said.
She looked from Frankie to him. “Sort what out? How about my gun?”
“I haven’t been able to reach Blue,” he said.
She gave him a remote look. It was dawning on her how much trouble she was in. “Can’t you get someone else to look for it?”
He shook his head.
“Please, Billy. I didn’t do this.” She sounded frightened.
He recited her rights. Even though he was holding possible proof that she’d killed Caroline, the words stuck in his throat. He cuffed her, not wanting anyone else to do it, and walked her down the steps with his hand on her elbow to support her. An officer assisted her into the back of his cruiser. As the cruiser pulled away, she turned to stare at him through the rear window.
They left Zelda’s house for the CJC at half past one, Frankie driving. He thought about the tears Zelda had cried over her murdered cousin. He’d believed her tears were genuine.
His phone buzzed. It was Blue.
“My dad had a stroke at four this morning. Hemorrhagic.”
“God, I’m sorry.”
“He’s out of surgery and in ICU. I’m on my way to line up a room for my mom at the Super 8 near the hospital. I apologize about Zelda’s gun. I know it’s important.”
“Least of your worries, my friend.”
“If a Tunica County deputy shows up at Airlee with a search warrant, it will upset the hell out of Mr. Lee.”
“I’ll take care of it. You look after your folks.”
“Something else,” Blue said. “Odette came to the hospital. She said Mz. Gracie Ella ate breakfast with Mr. Lee this morning. In case you want to talk to her, she’s acting like her old self again.”
“What brought her out of it?”
“No idea. She’s come around like that before.”
“Thanks for letting me know about your dad. Keep me informed if you can.”
They hung up. “Is his dad going to be all right?” Frankie asked.
“He’s a strong man. A lot of fight left in him. By the way, Gracie Ella Adams seems to have regained her senses.”