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Benjy felt sorry for Trey. He really did get a raw deal, and Benjy couldn’t blame him for the obvious resentment he felt for Mireille Champlain. She had seemed like a nice old lady, but then again, so had his stepfather’s mother, and she turned out to be a nightmare.

“Sondra seemed like she did whatever she wanted, no matter what anybody else thought,” Benjy said. “I’m surprised you didn’t elope.”

“I wanted to, but Sondra was too young.”

“How young?” Benjy asked, surprised.

“She was only seventeen,” Trey said. “By the terms of her father’s will, if she married before she was twenty, she forfeited her money, and it would all go to her mother.” He shook his head. “I couldn’t have cared less. I was already working for my dad and making a decent living. I could have taken care of her and Tippy, but that wasn’t enough
for Sondra. She wanted that money. She didn’t mind getting pregnant and having my baby, but she wasn’t going to marry me and give up being rich.”

No wonder the guy was in such a bad mood all the time. Benjy didn’t think Sondra sounded like she was worth all the drama and heartache she’d put Trey through, but it wasn’t his life, his choice.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “You deserved better, I’m sure.”

Trey looked away, as if embarrassed by Benjy’s sympathy. “She wouldn’t marry me, and then she taunted me by telling me she was going to marry that idiot in there, just so she could get her hands on her father’s money.” He made a sound of disgust.

“He doesn’t seem like such a bad guy,” Benjy said. He was surprised to find himself defending Lance. “I mean, he’s not too bright, but I guess he’d do whatever Sondra told him without arguing about it. Maybe she wanted a husband she could control.”

“Maybe,” Trey said. “But don’t let Lance fool you into thinking he’s too easygoing. He has a temper. His mama has spoiled him about as much as Jacqueline and the old lady spoiled Sondra. He can get nasty when he doesn’t get what he wants.”

Benjy found that a little hard to believe. Lance so far had shown no evidence of a temper like Trey claimed he had.

Trey evidently realized Benjy was skeptical. He pushed the dark, thick hair off his forehead with his right hand. “Look at the scar there, just below the hairline. See it?”

Benjy took a step closer to peer where Trey indicated.
Sure enough, there was a scar about two inches long, parallel to the hairline. He stepped back.

“Lance did that?” he asked.

Trey nodded. “He sure did. I was maybe seven, and so he and Sondra would have been about five. We were playing, and he was losing like he always did, unless we let him win. He got mad and picked up some scissors and came at me with them. Thought he was going to poke my eyes out, but Sondra jumped on his back. He still managed to cut me pretty good. My dad always made me wear my hair really short when I was a kid, and I swear I thought he’d scalped me. I passed out from all the blood loss.” He looked slightly green around the gills, Benjy thought, as if the memory of the blood made him queasy.

“He really could have done some damage,” Benjy said. “You were lucky Sondra got him off you before he could do anything worse.”

“The weird thing—Sondra told me about it later, when I came out of the faint—Lance was calm two minutes after, like nothing had happened. Sondra said he acted like he couldn’t remember doing it.” Trey shook his head. “I think he got brain damage when he was little or something.”

“Did he ever do anything like that again? Turn violent, I mean, and then forget what he’d done?” Benjy had begun to wonder whether Lance had killed Sondra in a sudden fit of rage and then had forgotten.

“A couple of times, when he was still a kid,” Trey said. “I’ve never heard about him doing it after that. Of course, his mama would do anything to cover up something like that.” His eyes narrowed. “Are you thinking he killed Sondra and doesn’t remember?”

Benjy shrugged uneasily. “After what you just told me, don’t you think it’s possible? He told me earlier that Sondra had decided not to marry him because she was interested in some older guy.”

Trey’s nostrils flared, and Benjy could see the anger and alarm building in the guy. Trey pushed past him and stormed into the bedroom. Benjy was right on his heels, afraid that Trey meant to attack Lance.

To his surprise, Trey merely shook Lance a little to wake him up. Lance looked up, blinking and yawning. Trey laid a finger across his lips to indicate Lance should be quiet. Then he motioned for Lance to get up and follow him out of the room.

Lance got to his feet, obviously puzzled. He glanced at Tippy, still sleeping, then walked out of the room ahead of Benjy.

Benjy gave Peanut another quick pat to indicate everything was okay—he hoped—and glanced down at Endora. The cat yawned and stretched, and then curled up again. Benjy hurried out and pulled the door shut.

Trey had his hands on Lance’s shoulders, his eyes boring into Lance’s. “I don’t believe you.”

“I don’t know why,” Lance said. “Sondra said she told you, too.”

“Told you what?” Benjy asked.

Trey didn’t take his eyes off Lance, but he answered Benjy’s question. “Told me that she decided at the last minute to elope with this other guy. But I’ll swear it on a stack of Bibles. Sondra did not tell me anything about eloping, not with you, not with anybody.” He gave Lance a shake, and Benjy stepped forward, ready to intervene.
He wasn’t anxious to get hit, because Trey was pretty muscular, but he knew how to defend himself.

Trey released Lance, who stumbled back.

“Looks like she didn’t want to marry either of us,” Trey said.

“No, I guess not,” Lance said.

“Did you get angry with her when she told you?” Trey asked. “Remember how you used to get angry when you didn’t get what you wanted?”

Lance frowned. “I guess so. I hit you one time, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did,” Trey said. “I can show you the scar to prove it.”

“No, thank you,” Lance said. “I don’t like scars. They’re ugly.”

“Yeah, they are,” Trey said. “Tell me, Lance. How angry were you when Sondra told you she was going to marry somebody else?”

“I don’t remember.” Lance sounded sulky.

“Are you sure?” Trey said. “Did you hit Sondra, like you hit me when we were kids? Did you hit her over the head with something?”

CHAPTER 33

J
ackson came into the room seconds after the sisters proclaimed Richmond Thurston’s guilt in unison. An’gel was startled by his appearance, and she hoped that he hadn’t heard her and Dickce just then. They didn’t think they were ready to share their conclusions with anyone else.

The butler’s mien gave no indication he had heard them name the lawyer. “Miss Dickce, the policemen would like to talk to you now.”

Dickce rose. “Thank you, Jackson.” She waited till he nodded and retreated from the room before she spoke to An’gel. “Should I tell the policeman what we discussed with Horace?”

“No,” An’gel said. “Horace needs to be the one to talk to the police. If we find out he hasn’t, we will certainly inform Bugg.”

“What about our suspicions of the lawyer?”

“Better not talk about that either. We don’t really have proof, only speculation. When I talked to Bugg, he said he was investigating financial angles. We have to hope that if Thurston has been dipping his hand into places he shouldn’t, the police will discover it. In the meantime, the minute I can get Jacqueline alone, I’m going to talk to her about Thurston.”

“Good idea,” Dickce said. “I’d better get to the kitchen.” She hurried out.

An’gel felt suddenly restless. She had an urge to get out of the house. Perhaps a short walk up and down the driveway would help. She went to the front door and out onto the verandah. The day was still cool, a bit of a breeze, with the sun bright and warming. She stood on the verandah and looked out over the grounds in front of the house.

The live oaks, ten of them on either side of the driveway and more out on the grounds nearby, towered over everything around them. Majestic, old, impressive. An’gel marveled to think that these trees likely had been there when the first Champlain decided to build his house on this spot in the late eighteenth century. They had trees nearly as old on the grounds of Riverhill, and An’gel loved every one of them.

She could understand Mireille’s feelings about her home. The trees embodied so much, had witnessed so much, of the family’s history. One didn’t lightly give up the land or a house like Willowbank. An’gel knew she and Dickce would go to almost any lengths to preserve Riverhill, and she knew without a doubt that Mireille felt the same way about Willowbank.

What about Jacqueline, though, Dickce wondered. Did she have the same reverence for the past? She was pretty
sure Sondra hadn’t cared much at all, but Jacqueline might. Especially now that she had a grandchild to look after. Surely this was all worth preserving for Tippy? Without Mireille, however, Jacqueline might be disheartened and ready to let the past recede, step away from it, and focus only on the future.

An’gel could understand that, in a way, but she knew roots were important. Roots gave you a foundation, something solid on which to build a life, a future. She hoped that Tippy would have the chance to know and feel proud of her roots, not have them taken away before she was old enough to appreciate them.

What has got you in such a strange mood?

Death, An’gel decided. Death had put her in this mood. Two murders and a death provoked by a vicious prank. Three lives taken away, and others damaged by the losses and the wickedness behind them.

The malice behind the events of the past two days worried An’gel. How could it be stopped when you weren’t certain who was responsible? She and Dickce had fixed on the lawyer, Thurston, as the culprit, but they had no proof.

The police might find the necessary evidence, but how long might it be before they did? An’gel prayed they found it soon, because she feared the malevolent will behind two murders might not balk at another. She worried that Jacqueline or Tippy could become a target. Maybe both of them were targets already. What exactly was the killer after?

If Horace was the killer, the answer was obvious. He wanted money. Now that Jacqueline had inherited from both her daughter and her mother, she was a very wealthy woman. An’gel couldn’t shake off the notion that Horace
was ruthless enough to kill in order to get his hands on the money.

But there was the lawyer. Lawyers who helped themselves to their clients’ money were not a rare breed, An’gel knew. Many lawyers had absconded with their clients’ fortunes in some way or another. Horace said Thurston had a flashy lifestyle, with new cars, trips to New York and Las Vegas, and multiple homes. Was the source of his wealth Sondra’s inheritance from her father?

If such was the case, how did he benefit from Sondra’s death? The money reverted to Jacqueline. How did that help the lawyer?

It could delay, at least for a while, discovery of his embezzlement, An’gel decided. He also might think he could access the money through Horace. If he had sufficient hold on Horace, he might think he could continue to bleed the estate dry by forcing Horace to beg Jacqueline for more and more money to bail him out.

Thurston wasn’t the only trustee of Sondra’s trust, An’gel recalled. There was a banker, a man that Jacqueline referred to as a
fussy pants
or something similar. An elderly man who kept a tight rein on the money and wouldn’t let her borrow against her own income. An’gel wished she knew his name. She would like to talk to him.

Well, why shouldn’t she talk to him? She ought to be able to find out easily enough his name and his address. She glanced at her watch. It was only a few minutes past four. More than time enough to go into town and talk to the banker.

Jackson might know, she decided. She went back into the house to track down the butler and ask him. She found
him in the kitchen. Evidently the police had finished using it for questioning witnesses. Jackson stood forlornly at the sink, staring out into the yard behind the house.

“Hello, Jackson,” An’gel said. The butler started, then turned to face her.

“Something I can do for you, Miss An’gel?” he asked.

“Yes, there is,” she replied. “Do you happen to know the name of the banker who is one of the trustees for Jacqueline and Sondra?”

“Yes’m, that’d be Mr. Farley Montgomery at the bank in St. Ignatiusville,” Jackson replied. “You need to talk to him about something?”

“Actually I do,” An’gel said. “Do you have any idea what kind of hours he keeps? I’d like to see him this afternoon, if at all possible.”

Jackson smiled. “He’ll be at the bank till at least six o’clock, Miss An’gel. He’s been keeping the same hours ever since he started there fifty-three years ago. Hasn’t ever missed a day that I recall hearing of.”

“That’s impressive,” An’gel said. “He sounds like a dedicated man.”

“He sure is that,” Jackson said. “You know where the bank is?”

“No, I don’t, so I’d appreciate directions.”

Jackson explained that the bank was on a side street off the highway that ran through St. Ignatiusville. “You can’t miss it. It’s going to be the second street to your left, after you pass the light in front of the big Baptist church.”

An’gel nodded. She remembered the church. “Thanks, Jackson. Now I just need to find my purse and keys and I’ll be on my way.”

“They’re in your room, Miss An’gel,” Jackson said. “I found your purse in the dining room earlier, and I put it in your room.”

An’gel thanked him again and vowed to herself to do a better job of keeping track of her purse. “When you see my sister, please let her know I’m running an errand in town. I should be back by six at the latest.”

Jackson said he would inform Dickce, and An’gel hurried out of the kitchen to retrieve her purse. As she reached the second floor, she spared a thought for Benjy upstairs, still watching over Tippy. Perhaps Dickce would go and relieve him. Right now, she was determined to get to the bank and get in somehow to talk to Farley Montgomery.

A few minutes later she was on her way to St. Ignatiusville. She checked the brakes before she left the property, the thought having occurred to her before she had gone five feet. The killer had no reason to tamper with her brakes, she thought, but she didn’t want to take any unnecessary chances.