Secrets, Lies, and Crawfish Pies Page 6

  “Help from me?” I asked. “A folder full of stuff?”

  “Yes, from you,” she said. “Yes, a folder full of stuff. You promised before we left Chicago.”

  “I don’t remember me promising anything,” I said.

  “Well, I do.”

  “Isn’t it something that Floneva could do?” I said.

  “Who?”

  “Your new office manager slash receptionist,” I said.

  “Oh Lord, I forgot about her again. I probably should go and check on her.” She seemed to be talking to herself, but then looked up at me. “She can’t help me, though,” she said, dismissing my suggestion.

  “Why can’t she help you?” I asked.

  “You said it. She’s new. Doesn’t know a thing about what going on around here, or how I want the Crawfish Boil to be.”

  “Neither do I,” I said.

  “She’ll get it all messed up.”

  “You’re letting her run your funeral home without any instruction.”

  “Oh, hogwash. We’re not even open yet. And you heard her, she wanted to go and talk to our dead guests. They can keep her busy until I can get to her.” she said. “Don’t you try and wiggle out of this. You promised.”

  “Can’t what you need her for wait?” Pogue asked. “I need her now for the autopsy.”

  “That body isn’t going anywhere,” Auntie Zanne said.

  “Yeah, but I need some answers so I can figure this thing out.” Pogue stood up. “This is a murder investigation. I’d say that’s bigger than a festival.”

  “I wouldn’t say that,” Auntie Zanne said. “And it seems to me that you think you have it figured out.” She planted her hands on her hips.

  “I never said I had anything figured out,” Pogue said. “Josephine Gail is just a person of interest. She has information I need.” He put his head down and muttered, “And if I could speak with her...”

  “A person of interest,” she clucked. “All she did was find a body. What?” She held up her arms. “You can’t report a body now?”

  Pogue looked exasperated. “Of course you can. And she’s not the only one I need to talk to. I’ll have to talk to Rhett.” He swallowed, his mind churning. “And probably your new receptionist.”

  “Floneva?” Auntie asked. “About what?”

  “About her whereabouts.”

  “Her ‘whereabouts’ was not here. I only hired her the week before I left, and this morning was her first day back here.”

  “You never know who might have information,” Pogue said.

  “Pshaw,” Auntie said, dismissing his reasoning.

  “Somebody’s got to know how a body could get in here without anyone seeing it. I mean, how come only Josephine Gail noticed it? Lots of stuff I could ask.”

  “Stuff,” she huffed. “The murderer snuck it in here. It should be easy to see he’s quite the criminal. I mean look at him, he committed murder.”

  “You don’t know it’s a ‘he,’ Babet,” Pogue said. “Could’ve been a woman.”

  “Don’t I know it,” she said and gave him a look.

  “Look, Babet -”

  “Watch your mouth,” she said. “Don’t say ‘look’ to me.”

  “I’m just saying, you know they say if a homicide isn’t solved in the first forty-eight hours, it gets almost impossible to do.”

  “Pogue, that’s TV. And it’s already been forty-eight hours.”

  “How you figure?” he said, I could hear the defeat building up in his voice.

  “We got those bodies from Hollarbach over a week ago,” Auntie Zanne said.

  “We don’t know if it came in with the bodies, although I will go over and speak with them, too.”

  “Well, how else would it have gotten here?” Auntie threw a tea towel over her shoulder and leaned against the counter. “It couldn’t have just walked through the doors.”

  “I’m not speculating that it did,” Pogue said. “But I need answers to do this.”

  “Don’t worry, Pogue,” I said. I had let them go back and forth long enough. “I’ll look into that for you. You’ll have more to go on once I’ve done the autopsy.”

  “I could probably figure it out before he does,” Auntie said.

  “Don’t go poking your nose in it,” Pogue said. “This is my job.”

  She waved her hand at him, stood up straight and went back to stirring her pot on the stove. “I’ve got a list of things on my desk for you to do for me, Romaine,” Auntie Zanne said over her shoulder getting back to festival business. “Won’t take too long for you to do.” She glanced over at Pogue. “And you can do them after you do that autopsy.”

  “See?” I said to Pogue. “Auntie understands priorities.” I hoped she caught my sarcasm.

  “And I need you to talk to Rhett,” she said. “Afterwards, too.”

  “About what?” I asked.

  “He’s in charge of the zydeco band for the festival.”

  I eyed her. “And what do you think I’m going to do?”

  “I don’t know,” she said and shrugged. “Whatever he asks you to do. He’s my help and I need you to help him.”

  “All that medical training,” Pogue said moving his head slowly from side to side. “And you end up being the assistant to the assistant to the chair of the Committee for the Annual Crawfish Boil and Music Festival.”

  Chapter Nine

  A rat-a-tat-tat came from the back door. Pogue had just left out through the front, probably more nervous after his talk with my auntie than he had been when he walked in the door. None of it fazed her. She’d taken a cup of whatever she’d had boiling on the stove–the “staying” brew I’d thought she was making for her client and her husband— to Josephine Gail.

  Maybe Auntie was thinking that her concoction would help Josephine Gail to stay out of jail.

  There was a man standing there. I pushed on the screen to the back door and held it open with my hand, revealing a beautiful sunny morning. Clear blue skies, not a cloud to be found. I took in a whiff of air and thought perhaps, now that I was going to do that autopsy, maybe it would turn out to be a good day.

  “Hi, Catfish,” I said.

  “Hi,” he said, then I saw a twinkle spark in his almost hidden eyes. He pushed his hat up on his head. “Romie?”

  “Yep,” I said. I smoothed down my hair and ran my hand over my face. Did I look that different? “Are you telling me that you don’t recognize me? It’s only been a couple of years since you’ve seen me.”

  “Of course I do,” he said and yanked on his green bucket hat, taking it off and scrunching it between his hands. He lowered his head, shuffled his feet and that old familiar grin spread across his face. “I just didn’t know you were here.” He peeked inside the door. “Babet didn’t tell me.”

  Catfish’s brown hair was cut close, neatly lined, and a stubbly five o’clock shadow made out his jawline, even though it was early morning. He had hazel eyes and caramel-colored skin. Not as rugged or crease-filled as one would think for a man who spent so much time outside.

  Catfish owned property in the pinelands close to the Sabine River. He fished, hunted, and farmed. During the summer when I was twelve, after I first arrived in Roble, he appointed himself my guardian, even over Pogue. Not letting any of the kids tease me about being the uppity black girl who thought she was French.

  When I first got to Roble, being sad was my go-to disposition, and with constantly being teased, it morphed into a stubborn streak. Catfish just seemed to understand me, and not hold any of it against me no matter what I did.

  And stick by me he did. He’d walk me to school and back, take me on hikes in the forested land on the perimeter of his family’s property, and he taught me how to wade through the shallow waters of the Sabine River to catch crawfish with my hands.

 
“I knew you’d see her when you brought over my crawfish.” Auntie Zanne came walking back into the kitchen and over to the door. She pushed past me. “Do you have what I asked you for?” She poked her head outside the door.

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ve got them right here,” he said. “Three tubs of ’em, just like you asked for. Had my traps out all night catching ’em.” A smile as bright as the sun popped up on his face. “Is Romaine baking her crawfish pies?”

  “No,” I said, and frowned.

  “Yes,” Auntie Zanne said at the same time. “And don’t worry, she’ll be sure to save a couple just for you.”

  That grin on his face widened, and he tucked his head even more. I peeked outside and saw clear plastic tubs of crawfish. Filled three quarters of the way with water, they were covered with blue lids with holes drilled in them.

  “I don’t know anything about me supposedly baking crawfish pies,” I said.

  “You make the best pies, Romaine,” Catfish said. “Ain’t never tasted none better.”

  “That’s because you think ‘ain’t nothing better’ than Romaine,” Auntie quipped. She turned and headed back to the stove to check her brew. “C’mon in Catfish.” She spoke over her shoulder. “I got breakfast. You hungry?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Sure am. Just let me bring your catch,” Catfish said.

  “Leave ’em there till you eat,” she said. “Then you can store ’em for me until Romaine can start on her pies.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, both he and my auntie seemingly ignoring me telling them I wasn’t baking any pies.

  “Sit,” Auntie said and pointed to a kitchen chair, then looked at me. “You too.”

  He did as he was told. So did I.

  I moved my cell phone over and folded my arms on the table.

  “How about some eggs and grits?” she said.

  “That’ll be fine,” Catfish said.

  “Good,” she said. “I’ve already got the grits cooking. They should be just about done.”

  “You got any bacon?” he asked.

  “I do.” She went to the fridge and grabbed what she needed. “And I’ve got just enough time to get the two of you something to eat, talk to Floneva about today’s services, and check on Josephine Gail before I have to go to my Red Hat Society meeting at the Grandview over in Yellowpine.”

  “Something wrong with Josephine Gail?’ Catfish asked.

  “Red Hat meeting?” I interrupted. “They aren’t really meetings, are they? They’re just social gatherings.”

  “Yes,” Auntie said as she laid the bacon into the cast-iron skillet. “I need the distraction. And social gatherings are how I keep up with all the skinny.”

  “Skinny?” I asked.

  Catfish laughed. “She means gossip,” he said.

  “I know what she means,” I said. “And I see that nothing has changed around here.”

  “I need to keep up with the goings on around here. It’s an important part of my business.”

  “By ‘it’ you mean gossip?”

  “It’s information about the citizens in my community,” she said.

  “You don’t live in Yellowpine,” I said. “That’s not your community.”

  “My community is all of East Texas.” She spread out her arms to show the vastness of her reach.

  Catfish started laughing.

  “So, you’re going out to keep up with the gossip about all of East Texas,” I said, “and I’m supposed to stay here and make phone calls about the festival for you today?”

  “You promised you’d help.”

  “You keep saying that, but I don’t remember promising that.”

  “See how big-city living can corrupt your mind, Catfish?” Auntie Zanne said and cracked an egg into a bowl, then picked up another. “She can’t remember anything.”

  “I’m sure she’s not that forgetful,” Catfish said. “And I’m sure she doesn’t mind helping, either.”

  “You are a ray of sunshine, Catfish,” Auntie Zanne said. “Always looking on the bright side of things. But even with your optimism, things aren’t looking so good around here.”

  “What’s going on?” he asked.

  “Josephine Gail found a dead body that didn’t belong here while I was in Chicago with Romaine.” Auntie took a fork and flipped over the sizzling strips of meat. “The man had been murdered and dropped off.”

  “Oh, wow,” he said.

  “‘Wow’ doesn’t begin to cover it,” Auntie said.

  “You didn’t hear about it?” I asked.

  “It happened yesterday,” Auntie said. “Found out about it as soon as we got back.”

  “No. Didn’t hear anything about it,” Catfish said. “After rehearsal I was out catching crawfish for you. And I don’t read the newspaper. Too much bad going on.”

  “It was a shocker,” Auntie said.

  “How did it happen?” he asked.

  “We don’t know,” I said.

  “But we’ve got ideas,” Auntie Zanne said. She added some salt and pepper to the bowl and started beating the eggs. “Although what I think don’t match what Pogue thinks.”

  “I don’t have any thoughts,” I said. “It’s not my job. I find out the cause and manner of death and pass it on to law enforcement.”

  “That’s what you did in Chicago,” Auntie Zanne said.

  “That’s what I’m going to do here, too,” I said.

  “I can’t remember there ever being a murder around these parts,” Catfish said. “Plenty of accidents, but nothing intentional.”

  “Well, there’s a first time for everything, and it’s just Ball Funeral Home’s luck that we are the ones all tangled up in the mess,” Auntie said. She poured the eggs into a skillet she’d melted butter in. “And now we’ve got to try and get it untangled.”

  “Pogue will get it untangled,” I said, correcting her. I turned to Catfish. “Auntie Zanne is supposed to stay out of it.”

  “Can you believe what she just said?” Auntie turned from the stove and spoke to Catfish. “How can I do that when Josephine Gail is involved?” she said. She grabbed some plates out of the cabinet. “She’s my oldest and dearest friend.” She put food on two of the plates. “And my business partner.”

  I wanted to object to the business partner part of her description because technically Josephine Gail wasn’t a part of the funeral home ownership. But I didn’t want to say anything bad about her “oldest and dearest” friend. It would just upset my auntie even more, and probably encourage her to dig that little upturned nose of hers in even deeper.

  Auntie put the plates in front of us. “Eat up,” she said.

  “I’m sorry, Babet,” Crawfish said, “about Josephine Gail having to go through that trauma.”

  “Me too. And she’s not taking it well at all. I’ve got to keep my eye on her, make sure she doesn’t fall apart before this thing can get figured out.” She made a third plate. “I doubt if she’ll eat any of this,” she muttered and headed down the hallway.

  “You came back to a lot of excitement,” Catfish said and shoveled in a mouthful of eggs.

  “Anytime was a bad time to come back,” I said.

  “I’m happy to see you.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “It’s good to see you too.”

  “So, you working here in the funeral home now?” Catfish asked.

  “No.”

  “You’re not back to stay?” Catfish said. “If you don’t mind me asking. Babet sure is acting like it.”

  “I don’t mind you asking,” I said. “I sure she wants me to, I’m not here to stay.”

  Auntie Zanne came back into the room. “Are you two still sitting here?” she asked.

  I took a bite of my bacon. “We were eating the breakfast you made for us.”

  “Well, by t
he time you get through with it, it’ll be lunchtime. Don’t you have something to do?” she said and looked at me.

  “I need Rhett,” I said. “To help me with the body.”

  “Rhett’s gone to gas up the car. We have two funerals this morning, and he has a family to pick up at nine.”

  “I can help you,” Catfish said. “Whatever it is you’re going to do. I know you said you weren’t working at the funeral home.”

  “No, I’m not. I’m just helping my cousin out.”

  “Pogue?”

  “Yes. Pogue.”

  “She’s going to autopsy that body I told you about,” Auntie Zanne said. “If she ever gets started.”

  “Like I said,” Catfish said. He pushed his plate back. “I’ll help you. I still help around here all the time.” He turned toward Auntie Zanne. “Babet knows she can call me anytime.”

  “You’re not running for office, Catfish,” Auntie Zanne said. “She doesn’t need to know your credentials. And you should have done a better job helping out while I was gone. Maybe we wouldn’t have an uninvited dead body to tend to.”

  “Auntie,” I said. “You can’t put that on Catfish.”

  “I’m just saying,” she said.

  “It’s okay,” Catfish said and let out an embarrassed chuckle. “She’s right. I guess I could have come by more often. But I’m here now.”

  “Good. So now you’ve got help, Romaine,” Auntie said.

  “How about first I show Catfish where you want to store the crawfish,” I said.

  “How about if you get to your autopsy?” Auntie Zanne said.

  “How about if I do both?”

  “I’m going to have him put them in the pantry. Don’t need a road map or a tour guide for that. They’ll keep fine in there until you can bake the pies.”

  “I’m not baking pies,” I said.

  She swung open the pantry door. “In here,” she said. “Make them easy access for Romaine.”

  “I’m not baking pies,” I said.

  “I’ll get the crawfish,” Catfish said.

  “I’ll get the door for you,” I said. I swung open the screen and held it for him. When he squeezed by me, I leaned in and whispered, “I’m not baking pies.”