A Fatal Romance. June Shaw
talk to you tomorrow,” she said, tone snippy.
“I’m fixing shrimp creole for lunch today,” I got in before she disconnected. I stomped through my kitchen, wanting to dash to her house and protect her, but she sounded okay, at least for the moment. Eve might not have replied when I told her the dish I’d planned, but she would come over. Shrimp creole was one of her favorites. She didn’t eat it often since she didn’t cook much, but if someone served her the dish, she almost kissed the preparer’s feet.
With barely enough time to get everything ready, I filled a pot of water with a pinch of salt and turned the fire high. I chopped and smothered onions, bell pepper, and garlic—the trinity of southern cooking. When the salty water came to a rolling boil, I went for the rice and saw I hadn’t bought any.
Why not? I mused and recalled I’d been heading for the aisle with rice when I spied Daria and went after her. Since returning to the store would take too long, I called a couple of my neighbors.
At 11:59 a.m. my doorbell rang. One dong at a time. The front door. Eve wasn’t using her key and wanted to let me know she was still annoyed.
“So glad you came,” I said, letting her in.
She trotted past me, nose in the air. “If I hadn’t come here, you probably would have staked out my house. I figured this would be better.”
Her sarcasm made me grit my teeth. I told myself everything would be fine. The money I’d missed out on at Fancy Ladies this week didn’t matter. Taking the time to shop this morning and prepare her special dish wasn’t important, either. I followed her to my kitchen.
“You were pretty sure of yourself, believing I’d come.” She stood, fists on hips, and surveyed the table set for two.
“Maybe I have a date planned.”
“More likely you’d planned yourself a libido memorial.”
Her smart remark made me almost sorry I’d cooked for her. She stepped near the stove, checking the largest pot. “I thought you’d have shrimp creole. These are noodles.”
“I wanted to try something different.” And the only one of my neighbors who’d been home was also out of rice. “I know you like variety in your life.”
She flitted her eyes at me. Eve spooned some of the shrimp dish over the pasta. She took sweet peas from a smaller pot, set her plate on the table, and grabbed soft drinks from the fridge—Diet Coke for me, Sprite for her.
“Okay, I’m sorry.” She tasted the noodles coated with red sauce. “This isn’t bad.”
“You’re forgiven.” I tried the shrimp dish, also deciding it was tasty. My secret ingredient for any tomato dish was a couple of heaping tablespoons of sugar. I normally cooked the sauce longer, but hadn’t had time today. “Why were two men at your house this morning?”
“If you really must know, Stan left for his meeting in New Orleans. And no, we didn’t sleep together. After he was gone, Dave Price came over. He owns a burglar alarm company.”
“So that’s why he was pointing, showing where you needed alarms installed.”
She grinned, her empty fork aimed at me. “You really were in front of my house.”
“I drove by. And I’m glad you’re finally getting an alarm.”
“I didn’t say I would. I just had him come over and check things out. At the same time, I was checking him out.” She rolled her eyes expressively. “A good-looking guy, huh?”
“Who notices?” I asked with a shrug. Picturing him, I found it difficult to keep from smiling. “Oh, something strange happened at the supermarket. I saw Daria with a man.”
“What’s so strange about that?”
“First, she never returned my phone call from yesterday. And she didn’t have a thing in her buggy. She looked happy with that guy.”
“Who was he?”
“I don’t know. I couldn’t see much of his face.”
Eve dabbed her lips with her napkin. “She might have just wanted mints or to get out of the house. And looking happy with a guy isn’t strange, you know. I look happy with guys all the time.”
“Exactly my point.”
“Hmm.” She considered a moment, nibbling on a shrimp.
We ate more in silence, minds maybe working in sync.
“You could be the poster girl for women who never get happy around a guy,” she said.
I ignored her comment. “Besides all that, Daria doesn’t even care about what I have of her husband’s? She must have heard my message by now, but she still hasn’t called.” I shoved my chair back and stood. “I think we need to go talk to your widow friend.”
Eve carried her plate to the sink. “She isn’t my friend. I was only introduced to her.”
“Right. Let’s go see what she’s made of.” I headed for the foyer. “I’ll wear the jacket and give her the rest of her husband.”
My sister waited in her car she had driven over. The leather seats made a soft swish and caressed my hips. She glanced toward my jacket’s pocket. “How do you think she’ll get him out of there?”
Unconsciously, I’d slid my hand in and instantly jerked it away, checking to make sure no trace of him lodged under my nails. “She can pour his ashes back in her urn.” I pulled my pocket open without touching anything inside, hoping by some magic turn of events, he would have evaporated.
No such luck. Over the white tissue, ashy bits of a man resembled Eve’s abstracts. I’d found this pricey silk jacket at an end-of-season sale at Fancy Ladies. It was my favorite, lightweight with the rust color brightening some of my other outfits. I couldn’t afford another one anytime soon. Daria needed to remove her husband from it.
“Eve, you might not want to think this of your dead friend’s wife, but she could have a lover, maybe that guy with her in the store. I hope when we get to her house, he isn’t with her in a compromising situation.”
She drove, eyes toward the street. “That would be bad, but worse things have happened.”
“Yes, she could have killed her husband to be with that man.”
Eve pushed out a sigh. “You read too many novels—people killing for romance. He was probably just someone who didn’t get to go to the funeral.”
“Oh,” I said, remembering. “I talked to your first ex and his wife buying groceries.”
“I noticed them across from us in the church. I’ve heard Jacques’s new wife doesn’t like me.”
“Can you blame her? He’s sends you much more than he needs to.”
“I knew they were coming to the funeral, but Nicole wasn’t.” She flashed a lovely smile. “I can’t wait for my daughter to have a baby.”
“Maw Maw,” I called her as many in this area called their elderly grandmas.
She pushed her tight lips forward in a pout. “Let’s think of something nicer for the child to call me.”
We’d passed only a few other houses that trickled along this barren stretch of woods and grasses beside winding Felicity Bayou. The early afternoon felt like deepening dusk when we reached the Snelling home. The house was red brick with a black mansard roof, a rarity around here. The property sank into a thicket of trees shrouded with moss as though hiding from spying eyes. The scene, much darker than the area leading to it, emitted a sense of gloom. Daria had yelled at me the only time she saw me. How would she react now?
Eve gave me a quick glance. “Apprehensive?”
“A little.”