Chapter Thirty-Three

Picture 1950s Hollywood.

That was Nola Landry’s home. It was a two-story mid-century modern. Inside the compound, marked by a brick wall the lawn was immaculately manicured, surrounded by topiary and beds of red roses everywhere. She had a white dogwood that, I soon found, matched the artificial one in the foyer of the inside of the house.

Auntie rang the bell next to the large double door. Waiting, I looked up and saw a surveillance camera sticking out of the corner of the house. I let my eyes drift over the entire area and saw more of them posted along the perimeter wall. I wondered what she had inside so valuable that she needed high-tech security. I didn’t think the First National Bank of Roble, the only bank in town, had as much surveillance as she did. Heck, most people in Roble didn’t even lock their doors.

We waited only a couple of moments, before a woman answered the door. It wasn’t Nola. This woman looked like she belonged in this century. She smiled when she saw Auntie. “Mornin’, Miss Babet,” she said with a wide smile and stepped aside to let us in.

“Morning, Carrie,” Auntie Zanne said, and matched her smile. “This is my niece, Romaine, “Auntie said as we walked through the door into the foyer.

The woman was petite. She was dark and wore her salt and pepper hair in a short afro. She had on a pair of jeans and a bright yellow blouse that reminded me of the pantsuit Miss Eugenia had worn to the Boule. On her feet she wore house slippers.

“Nice to meet you,” Carrie said. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

I smiled and nodded my head. Up until the day of the Boule I hadn’t known anything about Nola Landry. I didn’t know who this woman was to her, but I could imagine what my auntie had said. It had to be about me moving back to Roble. That was her favorite conversation.

“Nice to meet you, too,” I said.

“I let Miss Landry know you’re here,” she said and turned walking into the interior of the house.

I started to follow her in, but Auntie stopped me. “Take your shoes off,” She instructed. “Put those on.” She pointed to a basket that sat next in a corner. It was filled with footies, each rolled into a ball.”

I did as asked, not questioning the reason I couldn’t go the rest of the way with my shoes on. I slipped my feet out of my flats, lined them up against the wall and put a pair of the socks on. When I stepped out of the foyer, I saw why. The place was spotless.

The tile floor gleamed and the windows sparkled.

The inside was furnished in modern furniture upholstered in woven white material and brightened by orange velvet pillows there were matching rolled armchairs—all covered in clear plastic. She was going to make sure no dirt got on them.

The persimmon painted walls, dark oak tabletops, and corners were filled with surrealist wall art and contemporary sculptures. A baby grand set in the middle of the floor, the top down it was covered with pictures just as Frankie’s front room had been. I didn’t let my eyes linger. I’d have enough of pictures and the secrets they held.

I could see straight through the house to the back. The back wall was all glass augmenting the indoor with the outdoor living space. There was a large clear blue, kidney shaped pool. White wrought iron furniture with bright yellow and green floral cushions sat poolside.

I felt like I’d stepped back in time.

“Has Nola lived here a long time?” I asked.

“Looks like we walked straight into Ozzie and Harriet Nelson’s home.”

“Except it’s not in black and white,” I said.

“Nola used to be a movie star.”

“A real movie star?” I asked. I didn’t ask because I was in awe, but Auntie had a tendency to exaggerate. I probably should’ve asked her what her definition of one was. Even though Nola Landry’s name sounded familiar to me and had been nagging at me since I first learned it, I was sure it wasn’t because I associated her with Clark Gable or Gregory Peck.

“Yes, a real movie star,” Auntie said. “Not a Greta Garbo or Ingrid Bergman. She’s black, she couldn’t have been that kind of star. But she was in a lot of movies. Would have been in a lot more if she’d been around today. She’s good.”

“Why thank you, Babet,” Nola said, as she came floating down the stairs. She had on a white flowered kimono style robe that caught the air as she walked moving like a sail on a boat. It was worn open over a pair of white capri pants and a pale yellow shell.

“Hi Nola,” Auntie Zanne said. “Hope you don’t mind we stopped by without calling first.”

“Always happy to see you,” she said. “And who do you have with you?” She let her eyes drift over to me, locking them with mine.

I couldn’t believe her. Was she playing a role with me? She’d just spent five hours with me the day before during the autopsy and I was the one who picked her up from jail. Granted she didn’t say much other than asking how many of pairs of gloves could she put on, she did participate. And at the sheriff’s jail in Polk County she was too busy getting clean to notice me.

But how could she feign not knowing that I was related to Auntie Zanne? I had called her that in front of Nola each time I’d seen her. Plus, how could Carrie know of me and Nola didn’t? If Auntie Zanne had spoken to Carrie about me, I was sure she’d done the same with Nola.

This woman was such a phony.

“I’m Romaine,” I said and stuck out my hand. “Babet’s niece. I just saw you yesterday.”

Nola looked at my hand, then at Auntie Zanne. She gave me a polite smile and turned away. “How about some tea,” she said walking toward the living room. “I can have Carrie warm up the pot I made earlier.”

“No, thank you,” I said. Nola may have been a movie star in Auntie’s eyes, but in mine she was a Voodoo herbalist. I wasn’t drinking any tea made by their hands, especially something she’d previously made. What happened to brewing a fresh pot? I’d accepted coffee at Delphine’s when I first met her, but it was out of a bag from a grocery store.

Auntie swung her hand behind her where I stood trying to hit me. “Tea would be nice, we’d enjoy that,” she said, speaking for me too.

She could bring it, but I wasn’t drinking a drop of it.

“So what brings you by?” Nola asked after summoning Carrie and asking her to bring out a tea service tray. She gestured for us to sit down on the plastic covered sofa.

It wasn’t a good day for me to have worn something with my legs bare. I was afraid of sticking to the plastic. I sat and got stuck trying to scoot back. I had to lift up off the couch and move back before I dropped.

Auntie looked at me. I looked back. I knew she wasn’t waiting for me to speak. She wouldn’t ever think about me taking the lead on anything. So, I stayed quiet.

When I didn’t say anything on my own, she made sure I spoke up. “Romaine has some questions for you.”

“You do?” she said and tilted her head as if she was surprised that I would.

“If it’s alright,” I said, remembering my manners. Auntie Zanne told me that my elders would always be my elders, no matter how old I got. Show respect. But this woman seemed to think she was regal, someone from the Golden Age of Hollywood. But she wasn’t. At her age which I estimated at around seventy, she wouldn’t have been old enough to have done anything in that era unless she started as a child. I couldn’t imagine her holding on to her arrogance if her exposure was early.

“Certainly, it’s alright,” she said. Carrie returned with the tea service. Nola waved toward the coffee table telling Carrie to put it down, then waved dismissing her. “Although I can’t imagine what it is you’d want to ask me.” She picked up the teapot and started pouring the dark steaming liquid into the cups.

“It’s about Eugenia Elder,” I said.

“Fascinating,” she said, handing me a cup of tea. “The whole way you took her apart and was able to put her back together. Messy though. Very messy.” She shook her head and reached over to the end table and picked up a bottle of sanitizer. I wondered if she had them stashed all over. “I believe after that and fishing through trash at her house,” she continued, “I must’ve taken six baths.”

So she did remember me.

I put my cup and saucer down on the table. “I wondered what you remembered about the server that spilled the liquid on Mrs. Elder.” I waited for Nola to correct me on the generic term “liquid.” I was sure Auntie had told her what it really was.

“Oh, I remember everything about her,” she said and took a sip of her tea. “Uncouth. Clumsy. Very clumsy. I was appalled at her lack of competence.”

Nola closed her eyes and shook her shoulders making her top half shudder as if just the thought sent waves of disgust through her core.

I waited until she stopped her dubious display of shivering expecting her to tell me what she knew, but she said nothing. Scene. Fade to black. Sip from tea cup.

“Did you find out her name?” I asked, wondering how I could get her to stop the theatrics and get to the answers. I wanted to know if she saw or knew anything I didn’t.

“Of course not,” she said. “I had no reason to get personal with her.”

“I thought perhaps you had a conversation with her,” I said.

“I did no such thing,” she said, seemingly offended. “I just directed her on what to do and made sure she did it.”

That part I did see.

“I saw that,” I said. “You had her clean it up.”

“Made a nice little bundle for her and had her discard it.”

“In the dumpster?” I asked.

“Oh heaven’s no,” she said. “I despise landfills, so very nasty.”

One thing she did like was the word “very.”

“I had her take it to the incinerator,” she said.

“The incinerator at the Grandview?” Auntie asked. “The one at the back of the building.”

“The very same,” she said and nodded. “Only one thing to do with messes like that. Burn them.”