Death Comes to Dogwood Manor. Sandra Bretting
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thing in the world at the time. Little did we know what would happen next. “Anyway, I couldn’t find him. On the way out, I kinda wandered into another room.”
“What do you mean…you ‘wandered into another room’?” While he didn’t outright accuse me of anything, his tone was suspicious.
“Okay, I kinda went somewhere I wasn’t supposed to go. But let’s focus on the important things here. I found Mr. Solomon in an old bedroom. They’ve already called the coroner.”
“Got it. Stay where you are. I’ll be right there.”
“I knew I could count on you.”
“One more thing…wasn’t Mr. Solomon an old man?” he asked. “It could’ve been a heart attack.”
Now he sounded like Cole Truitt. “That’s what someone else said. But you wouldn’t believe how many enemies he had made around here.” About as many enemies as fleas on a stray cat, is what my granddad would have said. “They even had a pool going on when he’d die.”
“Ouch. That’s a little cold.”
Someone moved next to me, and I glanced up. Cole Truitt silently passed me a sweating bottle of Aquafina.
“I gotta go, Lance. Just hurry up and get here.” I clicked off the line and dropped the phone to my lap. Once I twisted off the cap, I took a long swig from the bottle and swallowed. “Thank you,” I said to Cole.
“Who were you talking to?”
“Just a friend.”
Come to think of it, anyone could’ve played a role in Mr. Solomon’s death. Even a friendly construction worker—like the one who hovered over me now. I quickly slipped the phone back into my pocket. “It was just an old friend from my neighborhood.”
“Gotcha. They told me the paramedics are on the way, so it’s okay if you want to leave.”
“Hmmm.” I took another swig of water instead of answering. For some reason, Cole Truitt seemed awfully anxious to be rid of me, as if I didn’t belong in the hall. But I was the one who’d found Mr. Solomon’s body in the first place.
I took another sip and let his comment pass. “I think I’ll wait for my friend. He said he’ll be here in a few minutes.”
“Suit yourself. I’d stay out of the way, though. They’re gonna need all the room they can get in this hallway.”
Which was true, but it also was beside the point. Only Lance could tell me where I should and shouldn’t go, and even he had a hard time trying to control me.
Cole didn’t budge from his spot. He gave me the strangest feeling, and no amount of water was going to be able to wash it away.
CHAPTER 4
True to his word, Lance arrived at the mansion in under ten minutes. The moment he entered the hall, a stately African American in a crisp navy police uniform, the crowd reverently parted to let him through.
He quickly made his way toward me and offered me his hand.
“Hey there.” He pulled me to my feet.
“Hi, Lance.”
“We’ve gotta stop meeting like this, Missy. People are gonna talk.”
“Let ’em. I’ve been accused of worse things.”
He led me down the hall to the empty foyer. Once there, he withdrew a notebook from the pocket of his uniform, while I tossed the empty water bottle into a trash can.
I proceeded to tell him every detail about the morning. How I’d tried to find Herbert Solomon in the library…the box from Olde Time Books of New Orleans that sat on the floor…even the way Cole Truitt spoke about his boss’ death.
By the time I finished, at least four pages’ worth of notes spooled through Lance’s notebook. He flipped it closed, then checked his watch. “Is that everything?”
“’Fraid so.” I swallowed, annoyed to feel the tickle return. “That’s all I can remember anyway. You’ve got your hands full here, I’m afraid.”
“I’ll call you later.” He gazed over my shoulder. “I need to go inspect the bedroom and establish a chain of command. Don’t forget to come over to the station later so I can videotape your statement.”
“I know, I know.” I didn’t mean to sound flippant, but I’d been through the drill many times before. “I’ll head over there after my eleven o’clock appointment.”
“Sounds good. And you might want to take it easy today.” He frowned. “Don’t roll your eyes at me… I mean it. Sometimes shock doesn’t set in for several hours. And I know how you get. You’ll tell everyone you’re ‘fine,’ and then you’ll fall apart in private.”
He knows me too well. “Okay. I’ll take it easy.”
“I’ll call Ambrose for you, so he knows what’s going on.”
“Please don’t,” I said. “We’re right in the middle of the wedding season. He’s got a thousand things on his mind, and he doesn’t need something else to worry about. I promise I’ll tell him tonight. Just as soon as I get home.”
While Ambrose and I had started out as friends, we were now roommates in a bubblegum-pink cottage that sat on the outskirts of Bleu Bayou.
“Good,” Lance said. “He should know what’s going on with you.”
Once our interview was over, Lance turned and began to walk toward the bedroom. Unlike before, when construction workers gathered in tight clumps to gossip, hard hats in hand, now the hall stood empty.
I turned the other way and left the foyer. It felt surreal to dart under the tarp and emerge in bright sunshine. Everything looked so normal outside the mansion.
Over there was the rosebush, where a lone cicada had serenaded me earlier. Beyond it were the marble steps, which led to an ornate gate with a useless lock that dangled from a length of chain. It felt like days had passed—not just minutes—since I’d arrived on the property, and I was surprised to see the sun wasn’t higher in the sky.
Once again, the hammering, sanding, and scraping were silenced, replaced by the cccrrruuunnnccchhh of pea gravel under my feet. Once I reached Ringo, I started the car’s engine and began to drive down LA-18, my thoughts a million miles away. I barely noticed the sugarcane fields, which looked brown in the summer sun, or my favorite restaurant, Miss Odilia’s Southern Eatery.
I only snapped to attention when I entered the parking lot at the Factory and spotted cars crammed cheek by jowl. It’ll take a miracle to find a parking spot this time of the morning.
Unfortunately, arriving at the Factory at eleven was as bad as getting to work at three. No one would leave until lunch, and then they rushed out en masse, leaving the whole lot wide open.
In between, the stragglers—like me—cruised around and around, until the patron saint of parking blessed us with an empty spot.
This time, the saint heard my prayers on the third go-round, and a gap appeared between a tiny MINI Cooper and a white-paneled van in the last row. No doubt the oversized van, splashed with the colorful logo for Flowers by Dana, had shielded the spot from other drivers.
I breathed my thanks as I pulled into the parking space. Once I threw Ringo’s door open, I gingerly stepped onto the asphalt. Heat radiated off the pavement in waves as I barreled across the lot and moved through the door of Crowning Glory.
Beatrice stood behind the cash register. While she should’ve looked rested after taking the morning off, she looked even more strained than usual.
“Hi, Bea.” I longed to blurt out the news of my discovery, but I didn’t want to work us both into a panic. Better to give her the news in little dibs and dabs. “It’s been a crazy morning,