Chapter Thirty-Nine

“That’s not Orville.”

Auntie stood up straight as she made her declaration. Like me, Pogue and the bank manager, we’d all bent forward to get a close up of the exchange between the man who claimed to be playing a practical joke on his wife and Carly Neely as caught on the bank’s surveillance camera.

I had to admit it. Auntie was right. That wasn’t Orville. He didn’t walk the same. He wasn’t as spiffy as the man I’d met on two different occasions. And he definitely wasn’t driving the right car. Nothing shiny about it or the man.

“You’re going to have to figure out who that is,” Auntie said to Pogue. “But we have to go.” She pointed a finger to herself then to me.

“Go where?” I said.

“Did you forget?” She turned and looked at me. “I have to vote for Avoyelles as the Lesser Mambo and now,” she looked at Pogue and stomped a foot, “I have to go and see about Carly Neely’s family. Feed them, make sure they do their homework, tend to their sick granddaddy. You talked me into coming here with you, and it’s put me way behind.”

“She didn’t say her father was sick,” I said. “She said he was old.”

“Same difference,” she said. “Still means I have to tend to him.”

I had insisted that Auntie come with us to view the footage of Carly and the man who hired her, but it wasn’t with the intention of making her late for any of her activities. It was because I was afraid of what she’d do if we left her at the sheriff’s office.

Pogue had locked up Carly. Put her behind bars. All the while Auntie protesting, loudly, to the cruelty of it all. I wasn’t so sure that Auntie wouldn’t have unlocked the cell after we left and turned Carly loose.

“Doesn’t matter if she said he was sick or not,” Auntie said. “I can’t leave them to fend for themselves ’cause your cousin locked up their only breadwinner and caregiver.”

“She killed a woman,” Pogue said.

“She didn’t mean to do it,” Auntie Zanne said. “Didn’t even know she was doing it. And if you were any kind of sheriff, you’d find out who that man is.” She flung a finger toward the monitor.

“I plan on doing that.” Pogue said. “But it’s not that easy. All I got is a video of him.” Pogue pointed to the computer screen.

“You got a license plate,” Auntie said and tapped the image of the car on the screen. “Run it!” She grabbed my hand and pulled me out of the door.

  

Auntie was furious by the time we left the bank. She blamed Pogue for locking Carly up based on ludicrous laws and me for letting him. If she couldn’t stop him, how was I going to do it?

And he was right. Being charged with murder could take as little as a defendant being a substantial factor in the death. That she was.

But after watching Auntie, and knowing her as well as I did, I wasn’t sure anything Pogue charged Carly Neely with was going to stick. Auntie, I knew, had already decided to find her a lawyer.

The first place we stopped was at the Brookshire Brothers grocery store. I trotted behind her as she went in, not saying a word to me, she grabbed a cart and filled it up with food. The she walked up and down the pharmacy aisles. I didn’t know what she was looking for, if it was medicine for Carly’s father, she’d have a hard time picking any out, because Carly had never said her father was sick.

Finally, she decided on a box each of Tylenol, Advil, and Excedrin. She bought children’s and adult cough syrup and some Band-Aids.

“You want me to pay for that?” I asked feeling bad.

“Carly doesn’t need your help now,” she said. “She needed you an hour ago.”

That made me feel worse.

“C’mon,” she said. “I’m going to be late for the vote if we don’t hurry.” She wheeled the cart out to the car. I opened the truck and started putting the bags in. “I sure do hope one of them kids is old enough to cook.” She looked at me, then went and sat in the car.

Silence. Again. All the way to Carly’s house. Auntie had made Pogue give her the address.

Carly Neely lived in a quaint little bungalow. It was neat and had flowers growing in the yard.

There was a little boy, probably no older than five, sitting on the front steps.

“Hi little fellow,” Auntie said. We’d both gone up the walkway. She’d made me leave the groceries until we made our introductions.

“I can’t talk to strangers when my mother’s not home,” he said.

“You shouldn’t ever talk to strangers,” she said. She looked up at the house. “Where’s your grandfather?”

“How do you know my grandfather’s here?” he asked.

“I know a lot of things,” she said. “Can you get him for me?”

“Sure,” he said and took off up the stairs and into the house.

An older man came out. Not the low sickly one that Auntie had concocted him to be. He was nice looking. He had dark skin and his low cut hair and lined moustache were gray.

“How are you ladies today?” he asked. “Can I help you with something?”

“Yes,” Auntie said. She looked down at her watch. “I can’t stay, but I’ll be back.”

“You’re here now,” he said. “Didn’t you come for something?”

“I did,” Auntie said and looked at me. I know it was hurting her to have to share the news. “I came to tell you that your daughter, Carly, got arrested and she won’t be coming home today.”

“Arrested?” He shook his head. “You must have the wrong house. The wrong Carly. My daughter wouldn’t do anything to get arrested for.”

“We bought you food for today,” Auntie continued, she directed me to go to the car and get the food. “And enough for tomorrow. I’m going to get her a lawyer. A good one.”

“What did they say she did?” he asked. Just then the young boy popped his head out of the door. “Go on back in the house.” The grandfather palmed his head and turned the little boy’s head around.

Auntie walked up to the bottom of the steps, hesitating before she ventured up. “I’m going to help,” I heard her say as I brought the first bags to the porch.

“How much stuff you got in that car?” the man asked. “You want some help?”

“No,” Auntie said, turning to look at me as I made my way back down the walkway to get more bags. “She’s fine.”

I didn’t know what they said while I was gathering up bags, but as I turned to go back, they seemed friendlier. Auntie had moved in closer to him and had a smile much politer than the ones she reserved for her funeral home clients.

“My apologies,” she said. “I didn’t introduce myself.” She stepped up on the porch and stuck out a hand. “I’m Babet Derbinay.” She smiled. “I own the Ball Funeral Home and Crematorium in Roble.”

“I know that place well,” he said. “Fine establishment.”

“Thank you,” she said.

“I’m Rawley Morishita,” he said and shook her hand.

Auntie stared at him for a moment, then looked back at me.

“You said Morishita?” she asked, letting go of his hand.

“Nice to meet you,” I said. Auntie’s anger with me made her forget her manners. “I’m Romaine Wilder.”

“You have kinfolk down in Beaumont?” Auntie asked.

“Right outside of there,” he said. “In Bevil Oaks.” He said it at the same time as Auntie. His face brightened. “Oh you know the place?”

“I’ve heard about it,” she said.

“Yeah, well I don’t know too much of that branch of the family if you’re aiming to ask me about them. We all got scattered and I ain’t been too good on keeping up with them.”

That seemed to make Auntie nervous. I wasn’t surprised she knew of him, she knew everybody and if Bevil Oaks was close to Beaumont where she grew up, I didn’t think it would be long before she helped him “unscatter” his family. Especially with her wanting to help Carly.

  

We got to the Grandview just in time, but according to Auntie we were late.

She’d been irritated ever since we left Carly Neely’s house. I knew she wished she could have stayed—washed, cleaned and cooked for them—but she had to make her meeting.

I guessed that the Distinguished Ladies’ Society of Voodoo Herbalists couldn’t manage without a Lesser Mambo being elected.

Rayanne had given Auntie the banquet room again. But it wasn’t as fancy. The table had plain white linen and there was a buffet set up along one wall. There were no servers on this go-round.

Auntie’s dais table was up front. And as full as the room was, it appeared that everyone had stayed in town the extra days to get another Lesser Mambo voted in.

I glanced to the table that Miss Eugenia had occupied. It was there, but seemingly stood as a tribute. There was no tablecloth on it and no one sitting around it.

To the right, I saw the previous occupants of that table. I hadn’t known it then, but it was Auntie’s crew—her girls. She’d told me that they all sat together at every Boule. Today they were together again.

Mark and Leonard Wilson. Delphine Griffith. Nola Landry. Avoyelles Kalty.

Then it hit me.

I knew who had killed Eugenia Elder.

I couldn’t pull out my phone quick enough. I had to get Pogue there before the vote and before everyone left town to go back home.