Kent Conwell - Tony Boudreaux 04 - Vicksburg (10 page)

Nodding, I sat in a Victorian wingback upholstered in red
velvet and trimmed with ornately carved rosewood. I laid
the stack of sympathy cards on the end table. “As well as
could be expected” I glanced around the parlor, noting the
heavy tan drapes on the French doors and the intricately
detailed wallpaper. “You were right about one thing. This is
an old house.”

At that moment, Alice entered with the tea. I’m no expert
on tea services, but having escorted Janice CoffmanMorrison to several of her Aunt Beatrice’s receptions, I had
seen many expensive silver tea services, and the set Alice
carried would suffer no shame in comparison.

She placed the tray on the coffee table, then carefully
placed coasters before us on the Carrara marble for our tea
as I spoke to Jack. “I asked Alice to sit with us. I want to
bring you up to date on what’s happening, and I want to hear
her view of what’s been going on around here the last few
years”

Jack arched a quizzical eyebrow. “Fine with me.”

I preferred no lemon nor milk nor sugar; the latter Jack
ladled into his tea.

Alice sat on the edge of the Victorian couch across the
coffee table from us, her tea perched on her knees. That she
was uncomfortable was obvious.

I did not plan to reveal any details of why I believed the
old man was murdered. While I was not suspicious of Jack,
I knew how he blabbed when he had a little too much bourbon in his blood.

Consequently, all I did was bring him up to date on his
father’s wealth. “A possible twenty, maybe twenty-three
million.”

His eyes grew wide. “Twenty-three million? You got to be
kidding. I was expecting six or eight, but twenty-three?”

“That’s including the land south of Vicksburg,” I
explained. I turned to Alice. “What about that land? You ever
hear any talk about the value of the riverside property south
of here?”

She glanced at Jack and hesitated.

He smiled. “It’s all right, Alice. If you heard anything,
you-can-tell us”

She drew a deep breath. “From time to time,” she whispered.

I had to lean forward to hear her.

“What did you hear?” Jack asked.

She looked from one of us to the other. “Well, Mr. Jack,
about ten years ago, your father came in and announced that
some idiot-those were his words-some idiot had insisted
on buying that property.” She paused.

Impatiently, Jack prompted her. “And?”

“And that was all he said. That day.”

Jack frowned, confused.

Alice continued. “Then some days later, I heard him tell
WR and Stewart about the offer. Now, you understand, I
wasn’t deliberately eavesdropping, but they were at the noon
dinner table while I was clearing the dishes. I couldn’t help
hearing.”

I nodded. “We understand. Go on”

“Mr. WR, he said something about the government thinking about building itself a highway, and Mr. Edney should
sell the land. Mr. Edney wouldn’t hear of it. The boys kept
trying to talk him into selling the property, but he refused.”
She paused, glanced at Jack and me, then added, “They were
getting awful loud when I left the dining room. I could hear
them still arguing when I was way back in the kitchen
although I couldn’t make out what they were saying.”

“Did you ever learn why he refused to sell the property?”
I sat my unfinished tea on the coffee table, careful to use the
coaster so the marble top would not stain.

She shook her head. “No, sir. I never did.”

Jack spoke up. “Did my brothers keep after him to sell it?”

The older woman gave me a worried glance. I smiled and
nodded. She continued. “From time to time, Mr. Jack, I’d
hear the land mentioned. I couldn’t swear on the Bible, but
I felt like they were after him all the time to sell it. I supposed they knew how much it was worth”

Jack leaned forward. “What made you think that?”

She pondered her reply for several moments. “Hard to
say. The way he always talked, he wasn’t going to sell iteven when Stewart begged him.”

“Begged him?”

“Yes, sir. Mr. Stewart, he had some bad gambling debts.”
She paused and looked from Jack to me. “Understand, I
wasn’t deliberately eavesdropping. I just..” She hesitated
and glanced nervously from one to the other of us.

I nodded. “We know. Go on, Alice.”

She directed her answer to Jack. “Well, Mr. Jack, about
six months or so back, Mr. Stewart came in one afternoon
and wanted to borrow some money. From what I heard, he
owed a sizeable amount out at the Riverboat Casino. Mr.
Edney refused. They had a terrible argument”

“Then what?”

“I was in the kitchen. I couldn’t help hearing them.
Honest. They were screaming at each other.”

Jack nodded. “Go on”

“Well, Mr. Stewart kept shouting for his father to sell the
land, and Mr. Edney said he had other plans for it. Then I
heard Mr. Stewart say everyone would be better off if his
father was dead. Mr. Edney screamed at Stewart to get out,
to get out and not come back” She shook her head. “My
heart just froze up at the terrible things they were saying to
each other. It was so bad that Mr. Stewart didn’t come back
until just two or three weeks ago”

Clearing his throat, Jack inquired, “Did they argue
again?”

Alice shook her head. “No. Mr. Edney just said he wasn’t
going to change his mind. What was done, was done.”

“You didn’t hear what he meant about not changing his
mind?”

Her thin face wrinkled in concentration. “I can’t put my
finger on anything exactly, but I had the feeling he was planning on giving the land away.”

Jack arched an eyebrow at me. “To his family. That stands
to reason”

Alice shook her head slowly. “No, sir. Not to his children.
To somebody else.”

Surprised by her revelation, I leaned forward. “Who to?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know, sir. I never heard Mr. Edney
say it like that. It was just, well, just a feeling I got when I
heard Mr. WR say he and Stewart could put the land to better use.”

“Better use? Any idea what he meant by that?”

Alice shook her head. “I don’t know.”

I veered away from the riverside property. “Did Mr.
Edney have many visitors?”

“You mean regular like?”

”Yes.

“He didn’t entertain, if that’s what you mean. He never
asked me to serve tea or anything like that. Lordy no. Once,
early on after he hired me, he had a visitor, and I asked if he
wanted some refreshments. In no uncertain terms he told me no. That he don’t want me to ever bother him when he had
visitors.” She drew a breath, then sighed deeply. “After that,
whenever Mr. Edney had himself a visitor, I stayed out of
sight unless he called me”

Later, after Alice returned to the kitchen to prepare an
evening meal for Jack and me before she left for the day, he
nodded in her direction. “What do you think about her story?
You think she’s trying to stir up trouble?”

Leaning against the velvet-covered back of the wing
chair, I replied, “Why would she lie?”

Jack winced and poked the plastic rod under his cast at the
wrist. He was becoming quite an artist in the way he could
work that thin shaft deep into the confines of his cast. “This
itches something terrible” Then he started poking around
his shoulder. “You ever had to wear one of these things?”

I chuckled. “I never got drunk and fell off a stage. You
better not break that off inside. They might really have to cut
the cast off after all.”

He glared at me. “You know where you can go” He
returned to scratching at his wrist. “You want to know why
I think she’s trying to cause trouble? Ten thousand lousy
bucks. She probably figured on at least a hundred thousand.
Lord knows John could have afforded it.” He shook his head.
“He was a cheap miser.”

I remained silent, considering the information Alice had
passed along to us. I didn’t know if the old man was cheap,
but he was certainly private.

Jack broke into my thoughts. “So what do you think?”

Picking up the stack of sympathy cards from the end
table, I idly thumbed through them while trying to assemble
my thoughts in some sort of logical order. “I’m not sure.
There are so many loose ends. And it seems as if they all
contradict each other.” I paused and gave him a sheepish
grin. “If that makes sense”

Jack laughed. “Anything makes sense to me now, especially after learning how rich John was. Why, do you realize
you are talking to a real millionaire, a multimillionaire?” He hesitated. A frown wrinkled his forehead, erasing the laughter on his face. “But you know something, Tony. I’m not
happy over it. Not at all. I’ve got the weirdest feeling that
there’s something bad, something wrong about it all.” He
looked at me earnestly. “What about you?”

I paused rifling through the sympathy cards. The difference between Jack and me was that I didn’t have that feeling
because I knew something was wrong. I just didn’t know
what it was. “About all I know right now is that I’ve stumbled across a few questions that I’d like to find answers for.”

His frown deepened. “Such as?”

With a wry chuckle, I began thumbing through the sympathy cards once again as I replied noncommittally, “I don’t
even know that exactly.” I paused, staring at the card in my
hand, the Madison Parish Ornithological Society, signed by
Abigail Collins, Director. I looked up at Jack. “Have you
gone through these cards?”

He ran his tongue under his bottom lip and dropped his
eyes. “Not really. Just glanced at them. Why?”

I handed him the card from the ornithological society.
“Your father had a lot of different friends. Take a look. This
one’s the birdwatchers. Take a look at this one. North End
Rotary. Here’s one from the First National Bank; the
Vicksburg Unitarian Church; the Committee for Vicksburg
Reconstruction; and Friends of the National Park Service.”

Jack pursed his lips when he looked up at me. “So?”

“So. I don’t think it will hurt to visit some of these people.” I took the cards from him and dropped them in the
pocket of my jacket and slipped the will and other documents in the other pocket. “Now,” I said, rising, “first thing
I need to do is get the window in my truck replaced. Then
I’ll start making my rounds.”

“What about my brothers and sister? When are you going
to talk to them?”

I considered his question. “I’ll catch them one at a time,
either at work or home”

While the glazier replaced my window, I called Diane,
getting her answering machine. I suggested dinner at one of
the casinos along the riverbank at eight, left my cell number,
and as soon as my pickup was ready, headed across the river
to Richmond, Louisiana, and the Madison Parish
Ornithological Society.

Traffic on 1-20 was heavy that afternoon, but flowed
smoothly. I flexed my fingers about the steering wheel, wondering just what dealings John Wesley Edney had with the
ornithological society.

Never having cultivated any interest in birdwatching, I
had preconceived notions about the director, Abigail Collins.
Probably a meek, dumpy matron with a sweet smile and a
penchant for hot tea. An appropriate image for the name.

Was I ever surprised.

Turning down a quaint street lined with ancient magnolias,
I spotted the Madison Parish Ornithological Society’s building off to the left.

It was a copy of Jefferson’s Monticello, a Renaissance
villa of red brick and white columns complete with the dramatic French dome.

I couldn’t help admiring the classic architecture, at the
same time bemused by its incongruous appearance in a
neighborhood of dilapidated shotgun shacks.

I stopped in front of the receptionist, introduced myself,
and asked to speak with Miss Abigail Collins. In a cool manner, and an almost indifferent tone, she asked the purpose of
the visit.

“In regard to the death of John Wesley Edney,” I
explained.

Her cool manner vanished. A hint of pink tinged her
cheeks. She rose quickly. “Yes, sir, Mr. Boudreaux. Just one
moment, please.”