Secrets, Lies, and Crawfish Pies Read online

“Yep. Just thinking.” I cleared my throat. “So maybe it is something to that. But there are cold case shows too. Murders being solved after years, sometimes decades.”

  “That’s true,” he said. “Although, I hope this murder investigation doesn’t come to that. It would be quite embarrassing if I couldn’t solve my first murder case.”

  “So, are you thinking about not going to your conference?”

  “I don’t know if I should. I mean it was paid for with county money, and it’s pretty much mandatory because I’m a newly elected sheriff. Plus, I’m sure when the Board approved me going they didn’t think that crime would magically stop while I was gone.”

  “I’m sure they didn’t.”

  “So, do you think I should go?”

  “Is your deputy going too?”

  “No. He’s the one holding down the fort.”

  “Oh,” I said, understanding. “That’s why he’s on loan.”

  “Right. And like I say, I don’t want him investigating it. He’ll be leaving as soon as I get back.”

  “When are you supposed to leave?” I asked.

  “Tonight,” he said. “The conference starts tomorrow. I’ll be back late Friday night. I think my flight gets in around eleven p.m. But I just don’t know.”

  I laughed.

  “Don’t laugh, Romie. It’s not funny.”

  I tried to stop laughing. How horrible, I thought, that his conference was scheduled right when there was a murder in Roble. And that meant leaving my Auntie Zanne, the notorious Nose-Poking Babet, running around loose trying to solve it while he was gone, and her main suspect was his mother.

  “What are you laughing about?” he said.

  “Nothing,” I said, giggles still erupting. “You should go. I think you should go.” I took in a breath to control myself. “The information and people you’ll meet will be invaluable.”

  “So go?”

  “Yes. Go.”

  “Even though you thought it was funny?”

  “Even though I thought it was funny. Although I really didn’t think the part about you going was funny. It’ll be fine.”

  “So, what do I do about the report for now?”

  “You can pick it up before you go, give it to your lab, and they’ll call you with the results. Your phone goes with you, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So they’ll be able to reach you,” I said. “Not that you can do anything from there. But at least you’ll have something to work with when you get back.”

  “That’s true,” he said. “And nothing’s going to happen to the body. It’s not going anywhere.”

  “Actually, I’m releasing the body. I’m done with it.”

  “Who are you releasing it to?” he asked.

  “Usually, it’s the family. For now, I guess Ball Funeral Home & Crematoruim.”

  He let out a groan.

  “Don’t worry, Auntie Zanne will take good care of him.”

  “I guess that’s okay, right? I mean it was already embalmed,” he said. “You confirmed he was embalmed with formaldehyde?”

  “Yeah. More or less. You’ll have to send it out to a lab to confirm. But Auntie’s nose seems to have it confirmed.” I said. “But he wasn’t properly embalmed.”

  “No?”

  “No.”

  Living in a household that ran a funeral home, we both knew what that meant.

  “So, you said it was hard to tell the time of death?”

  “Yeah, but my guess would be three or four days. No longer than a week.”

  “So not too long before Josephine Gail called it in, huh?”

  “That’s my medical opinion,” I said. I thought about how to phrase my next question. “Pogue. Is it true that Aunt Julep is still the only one that uses formaldehyde to embalm?”

  He huffed. “I don’t know,” he said. “Honestly, I don’t. You know how many funeral homes there are around here. I couldn’t tell you who uses what.”

  “Put it this way,” I said. “Does she use it?”

  There was a long pause. “Yeah. She does. I think.” He got quiet again. “But that doesn’t mean anything, you know.”

  “I know,” I said. “So who are you looking at then, other than Josephine Gail?” I asked. “I heard you say to Auntie Zanne you wanted to speak to other people.”

  “Yeah. Everyone in the funeral home,” he said. “I’m thinking that’s the best place to start. They had the perfect opportunity.”

  “How many people work here?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “You don’t know?”

  “You know I haven’t been here much. She just hired someone.”

  “The new receptionist?” Pogue asked. “What’s her name?”

  “Floneva Floyd,” I said.

  “Should I talk to her?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Now that I think about it, Auntie said she interviewed her and gave her a tour before she left. She would’ve known that the doors were always open and where all the rooms and dead bodies were after Auntie showed her around.”

  “And she knew Babet wouldn’t be around.”

  “Yep. She had to know she’d be gone for two weeks.”

  “So I’ll talk to her,” Pogue said.

  “Who else?” I asked.

  “There’s Rhett Remmiere,” he said. “Babet hired him not too long ago and I don’t know much about him.”

  “I don’t either,” I said thoughtfully. “He certainly isn’t French.”

  “What?” Pogue asked. “Who said he was French?”

  “No one said it,” I said. “It was just the impression I got when Auntie Zanne introduced him to me.”

  “What do you think about him?” Pogue asked.

  “Can’t really say,” I said. “Haven’t had much interaction, but seems like he’s loyal to Auntie Zanne even though I’m not quite sure what he does.”

  “Yeah, it seems to me he does a little bit of everything.”

  I hunched my shoulders. “That is what she needs around here. A jack of all trades.”

  “Being ‘Jack’ would have given him access,” Pogue said. “So he could have easily been the one to do it.”

  “And I guess he’s just learning the business,” I said. “Might not be good enough to hide his inexperience.”

  “That was what I was thinking,” Pogue said.

  “Okay, so those are two people you can start with,” I said. “Anyone else?”

  “Catfish.”

  “Not Catfish,” I said. I couldn’t take that suggestion seriously.

  “Why not Catfish?” Pogue said. “He was here. He knows the business.”

  “Why would Catfish do something like that?”

  “We don’t know the reason that anyone did it right now. That’s why we can’t rule out anyone that had access to the funeral home and the Preparation Room.”

  “Not Catfish,” I said again shaking my head. “Now if someone was dead because they had bothered me, then I’d say maybe. But other than that, I can’t imagine it.” I grunted. “Moving on.”

  “Okay,” he said, but I could tell he didn’t like me dismissing his suggestion. “What about who was running the front office before Floneva? They would have still been there while Babet was away.”

  “I think that would’ve been Josephine Gail,” I said.

  “So we’re back to her.”

  “Guess so,” I said.

  Pogue moaned.

  “What?”

  “This is just stupid speculation. This can’t be the way to solve a murder. Sitting around and going through Ball Funeral Home & Crematorium’s personnel directory.”

  “It’s a start,” I said. A start that I hoped he’d handle better than his talk with Josephine Gail.

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nbsp; “Look. I have to go,” he said. I could hear the discontent in his voice. “You’ll get me the report before I have to leave?”

  “I will. I took fingerprints and a DNA sample for you, too.”

  “You did?”

  “Yes. So run ’em. Send them to your crime lab. See if you can come up with a match. Get an ID on this guy.”

  “You know there’s a lot of moving parts to this and it looks like I’ma have to do all of it long distance.”

  “Don’t worry, you’ve got me. I’m here for you.”

  “Thanks, Romie. I do appreciate that. But with you comes Babet and she spells trouble.”

  I laughed. “That is true.”

  He hesitated before he spoke again. “I heard what she said about my mother this morning when I came in.”

  “I figured you had.” I shook my head, although he couldn’t see me. “But I know that Aunt Julep didn’t do anything.”

  “You don’t have to tell me she didn’t do it,” Pogue said. “Call and let me know when the report is ready. I’ll come by and pick it up.”

  We ended the call.

  I plugged my phone into the wall to charge and clicked on the computer. I had recorded my observations as I performed the autopsy, then included my thoughts as soon as I finished on what might have happened based on all the things I found. I wanted to type it up verbatim.

  Now, my fingers poised over the home row of the keyboard, I thought again about what I had found out.

  Our John Doe had never seen it coming and had died instantly. And with the body found somewhere other than where it happened, a lot of the regular clues were just not going to be there.

  The DNA analysis of the clothes might help. But not much of anything else I’d found. With him being in that casket we didn’t have the usual things to identify him. No wallet. No cellphone. No vehicle. He didn’t even have on his own clothes. And the pine sap and wood chips I’d found on his shirt were everywhere, seeing that East Texas’ backyard was the Piney Woods.

  Pogue was right. The personnel of Ball Funeral Home was probably the best place for him to start. I just didn’t like the idea of a murderer being right in my own home.

  Chapter Twelve

  “I. Need. You.” My auntie had been whispering into the phone for a full thirty seconds and those were the first words I was able to make out.

  “Did you say you need me?” I asked. “Are you alright?”

  She’d gone to her Red Hat Society event. All decked out in a red, medium-brow floppy hat covered in organza and adorned with a silk bow, and a deep purple sheath dress that had a matching coat, her oversized tan tapestry purse clashing as usual.

  The Red Hats were about having fun, something I felt she should have foregone seeing that we were in the middle of a murder investigation and her best friend, according to her, was the prime suspect. Plus, all she’d done since she’d bullied me into coming to Roble was complain about how overwhelmed she was with the festival and how much she needed my help.

  I had been sitting in her office since I’d finished the autopsy. Then I made the phone calls she’d delegated to me. Delivery confirmation of the tents. Making sure the stage for the musicians would be up in time for the sound check. Calling the rental company to check the time the floor was being installed for the zydeco and Cajun dance contests.

  Now she needed something more.

  Thank goodness I had already pecked out the autopsy report on my auntie’s dinosaur of a computer.

  “I can’t talk loud,” she said. “Can you hear me?”

  “Barely,” I said.

  “I need you to come here. To me.”

  “Did you say come to you?” I put a finger in my other ear and pressed the phone closer.

  “Yessss.” Her whisper turned into a hiss.

  “Why?”

  “Can you just get here?” Her voice seemed desperate.

  “Aren’t you all the way at the Grandview?”

  “Yessss,” came another hiss. “Get Rhett to bring you,” she said. “And get here quick.” Then she abruptly hung up on me.

  What a cliffhanger. She was so dramatic.

  “What is she up to now?” I muttered and glanced at the time on my cell phone.

  Eleven a.m.

  I’d gotten a lot done and the day wasn’t even half over, which only meant more time for Auntie Zanne to wrangle me into doing stuff.

  I knew coming to Roble was a bad idea...

  I blew out a breath and at the same time pushed off, propelling the swivel chair to where I sat back from the desk.

  “Guess I have to go and find Rhett.” I said and ambled out of the office and down the hallway. “So I can take a ride alone with the Definitely-Not-French-But-Possible-Murder-Suspect.”

  I remembered Auntie Zanne said he had to pick up a family at nine, but didn’t know where he had taken them–a church, graveside service, or back to the funeral home–or whether he was back or not.

  I decided to stop in the kitchen and make myself a sandwich to feed my rumbling belly. I’d look for him while I ate.

  Head in refrigerator, Rhett found me.

  “Plan on climbing in?” he asked.

  He’d walked into the kitchen, startling me.

  “Just looking for something to eat,” I said. I stood up straight and turned to him.

  Could he be a murderer? I gave him a good once-over. He was dressed in a button-down white shirt, probably the one he’d worn under a suit for the morning funeral. He had exchanged dress pants for the jeans I’d seen him in the first day I met him.

  Well, one thing for sure, I couldn’t tell if he was by the way he dressed.

  “I was also looking for you,” I said.

  “In there?” He pointed to the fridge.

  “My Auntie Zanne called. She wants you to bring me to her. She said it was important.”

  “Where is she?”

  “The Grandview Motor Lodge,” I said. “It’s a motel out on Highway 87 in Yellowpine. Near Hemphill.”

  “I know where it is,” he said.

  “Okay. So, can you take me?” I asked.

  “I can take you wherever you want to go,” he said.

  I narrowed my eyes and looked at him. “I just want to go to Yellowpine.”

  “And I’ll be more than happy to take you there.” He kept smiling.

  “O-kaaay,” I said, wondering why that grin was plastered on his face. “I’m just going to make a sandwich first. I’m starving.” I pointed to the refrigerator.

  “Take your time.” He pulled out a chair and took a seat. “I’ll wait until you’re done.”

  “I can take it with me,” I said.

  “Or you can sit and eat it here,” he said, smiling. He pointed to the chair across from him.

  How creepy…

  Chapter Thirteen

  “You don’t have to hold the door open for me,” I said as I climbed in the car. Turkey sandwich in hand, I carried it wrapped in a paper towel.

  Mr. Rhett Remmiere was creeping me out with all of his sudden niceness. I was beginning to wonder if he hadn’t overheard me talking to Pogue and knew he was a suspect, because now he was all smiles and sweetness.

  He’d sat and stared at me the whole time I fixed my to-go lunch, even offering to run out to Auntie Zanne’s garden when I couldn’t find any tomatoes in the refrigerator. And he stood by patiently, with that same smile planted, when I left Pogue’s report with Floneva. I’d stuck it in a sealed envelope with instructions that she was not to open it or give it to anyone but the sheriff.

  “I can tell you been out of the south for a while,” Rhett said. “We open doors for ladies.”

  My brow creased. “Northerners open doors.”

  He didn’t say anything to that, just shut the car door and headed over to the driver
’s side of the car.

  “I was just saying,” I said as he slipped into his seat. “I can do it.”

  “I wasn’t saying that you couldn’t,” he said. “I was just being a gentleman. Like my mother taught me.”

  I didn’t have anything to say to that. I didn’t want to talk about anyone’s mother.

  “Thank you for taking me out to Auntie Zanne,” I said.

  “I don’t mind at all,” he said. “I’d do just about anything for Babet.”

  “She is a Roble darling,” I said.

  “Ahh. Did I notice a hint of sarcasm in your voice?” He glanced at me.

  I lowered my eyes. “It’s just that...” I glanced over at him, then shook my head. “Never mind.”

  “You’re not a lot like her, are you?”

  “What do you mean by that?” I asked, unsure how I should take his comment.

  “Babet’s a social butterfly. She’s in the middle of everything. Always a part of the goings on.”

  “That she is,” I agreed. “And always trying to drag me into it with her.”

  Although right now she was in the middle of nowhere.

  Yellowpine was surrounded by the Sabine National Forest. When that fact popped into my head, it made me realize that it would have been a good place for our murder. Secluded. Small population. Lots of sap everywhere.

  Is that why Rhett knew “exactly” where it was?

  Out on an old state highway, close to the Louisiana border, Yellowpine was thirty miles from Roble. Thirty miles, I decided, would be the perfect time for me to start helping out my cousin by asking this guy a couple of questions.

  I looked over at Rhett, still talking. What did he know about all of this? Why hadn’t he said more after Pogue arrived? And why would Auntie want him to bring me to her? Hadn’t she considered that he might be the one to have done the deed?

  Rhett didn’t look threatening. In fact, he was good looking. No glasses today. Maybe contacts? It was the first time I could get an unobstructed look at his light-colored eyes. They were striking, specks of gold that twinkled, something I hadn’t noticed before, in the sunlight streaming through the windows.

  Could those be the eyes of a murderer?

  “Not like you,” he was saying.