Killer Cousins (12 page)

I stood, stunned. Moments ago my cousin and I laughed and hugged. But then we got back to the place where we’d usually stayed—far apart. Only this time, I actually felt threatened. Did she know her strength? Had she meant to harm me? Would she try something again?

The high-pitched voice from the receiver left little doubt as to the identity of her caller. I left the room, not caring to stay around Stevie anymore.

After her reaction to me, I didn’t want to be near her at all. I grabbed my purse, jotted a note saying I was going shopping for a few hours, and left it on the kitchen table. I glanced at Minnie and considered taking her with me. But that would be silly. She’d probably die from heat in the parked car. And Stevie surely wasn’t a vengeful person.

She didn’t want to hurt me,
I told myself, hurrying from the house and rubbing my arm that ached where she’d hit me. Bruises were forming.

I drove off, apprehension making my scalp tingle. Why had she been so aggressive? When could I leave town?

I considered what to do, then determined I’d start checking out people from the stop-smoking group. They were the only ones I knew with some attachment to Pierce Trottier.

First, I needed to settle down after that fight. Food would bring comfort, but I wasn’t too hungry. Maybe a little gumbo. I aimed for Cajun Delights. Besides, I told myself as a convincing argument, the priest and his lady friends might be there. I could question them.

* * *

Many cars filled the parking lot. I parked and walked on the wooden bridge, pausing to watch fish and ducks. A brisk breeze refreshed my skin. Birds sang from a tree. Losing myself in nature, I then sauntered to the restaurant, realizing how meditation might ease a person’s spirit.

Maybe Stevie really could lose herself in thought so much she wasn’t aware of anything else, even the doorbell I’d rung when I first arrived. I would need to practice being one with my surroundings.

Touching the restaurant’s cypress exterior, I eyed cheerful families swinging underneath the tin overhang. Laughter and chatter abounded, along with tempting aromas when the door opened. I walked inside and glanced at the table reserved for Gil.

Drats. Empty.

But maybe he was here. A young woman seated me. I asked for tea and gumbo, then scanned faces.

No priest with his girlie friends. And no Gil that I could see. But Babs was near.

“Oh, hello,” she said, walking beside my table.

“Hey, Babs. Have you seen your boss?”

She shook her head. Beyond her, I recognized the brassy red hair of a woman entering the restaurant. A straight view let me notice her stretch jeans were way too tight. She was a member of the stop-smoking group. And she came in alone.

I went to her. “Hi, I met you when I was with my cousin, Stevie. I’m Cealie Gunther.”

“Hey. I’m Jenna.” She looked away. I recalled she hadn’t met my gaze at the meeting. And she’d walked out to smoke.

She kept her gaze away, looking apprehensive.

“Your group’s leader seems to stress out on how well his students achieve,” I said to get her reaction and learn whether she’d quit smoking yet.

She faced me. “Ish? He’s got nerve. The man never smoked once, and he’s trying to tell
us
what to do.”

“He never smoked? You’re kidding?”

She wagged her finger. “Not even one cigarette.”

“That would be like me wanting to teach a class like that. How can someone who never smoked tell others how bad it is?”

“Exactly.” Jenna’s nod revealed her hair’s black roots.

“I’m sitting alone,” I said, wanting to learn more. “How about joining me?”

“No thanks.” She stomped off toward an empty booth.

My seafood gumbo was to die for. Thick gravy chock-full of shrimp, lump crabmeat, and oysters. Seasoned to perfection. I ate French bread and potato salad and then remembered I hadn’t been especially hungry. Still no sign of Gil, so I left.

I was glad I’d learned a pinch of news from Jenna. It didn’t seem like much, but it was something. I would check out more people from The Quitters Group and also try to amend my cousin’s aggressive behavior. Maybe I could help her calm down, I thought as I saw a mom-and-pop drugstore.

I parked and went in. I asked a clerk where to find aids to help people quit smoking. She sent me toward the druggist.

I angled toward the rear of the store. Along the way I spied straws and grabbed three packs. Maybe pretending to smoke straws would help Stevie like they helped Fawn.

I trotted to the rear of the store and found Father Paul Edward and the twins. They were studying racks of condoms.

Chapter 10

The twins, Lark and Clark, crowded beside Father Paul Edward in their spiky heels and slinky dresses. He lifted a condom pack, and all of them laughed.

“Umk.” The sound leapt out of my throat before I could stop it.

The group turned to me.

“Hi, y’all,” I said.

“Hey,” the women replied in unison. The priest stared at me the way people do when they’re trying to place someone.

“You have a great confessional,” I said, and his expression relaxed. He nodded.

I rushed to the next aisle. If the priest thought I’d been to confession to him, so what? Probably he was mentally scrolling to recall what horrible things I’d told him. If I were Catholic and
did
go to his church, I could go into his little confessional and tell him plenty. Gluttony and judging people might top my list.

Could a confessor help rid me of faults I’d like to shed? Possibly, but those cubbyholes might make me claustrophobic. Nowadays why not have drive-up confessionals for people in a rush? They could put up signs: Toot and tell, or go to hell.

I giggled, then mentally stomped my wayward thoughts about that priest. Maybe he was with those women who appeared to be hookers, and all of them appeared to be buying condoms. So what? That didn’t mean they
were
hookers or were buying and planning to use the things. Possibly they were only checking out current styles.

“I know where I spoke to you,” the priest said, and I spun around. He came down the aisle, hobbling with his cane, one foot dipping. The twins sashayed at his sides.

“You do?” I said.

“Yes, with your cousin at our quitters’ meeting.” He grinned. I didn’t know why.

“Oh, right, I do believe I met you there.” I did a quick mental scroll to determine whether I was actually fibbing to a priest. Decided I was innocent.

His friends smiled, like this knowledge made them extremely happy.

Father smiled wider, shaking his head. “That Ish,” he said.

I had no idea why he’d consider Ish funny. “So he really wasn’t a smoker?”

“Nope, never smoked.” Father laughed. “Strange, isn’t it?”

The twins grinned as if we told funny jokes.

“That’s incredible,” I told Father. “That would be like me standing in front of your group telling you that you should quit the habit because I heard it’s bad for you.”

The smile wiped off his face, replaced by a scowl. “Maybe you could do that.”

The girls also scowled at me.

“Ladies, ready?” Father asked, done with our discussion.

They nodded in unison, and all went toward the front of the store.

What was that all about? What would make this priest consider their stern group leader so amusing?

Unable to answer that question, I found stacks of patches and gum and lozenges that helped people stop smoking close to the white-haired druggist filling a prescription.

“Do they put all these stop-smoking things right here so you can guard them?” I asked him.

“Pretty much. Nicotine is a dangerous substance.”

“These things contain nicotine?”

“A little. It’s much less than you’re getting in a cigarette. What would you like?”

Hmm, what might Stevie use? Different boxes held all kinds of items. “I might take one of each.”

“I wouldn’t advise that. You can’t use more than one of these products at a time.”

“Why not? It seems it would help much more if a person has a double dose of products, maybe wear a patch and chew the gum.”

“No way. And don’t smoke while you’re using them, either. That could speed up your heart too much, which could especially be a problem if you already have heart problems.”

“My heart’s great, and I don’t smoke. I want to help my cousin with tension while she quits.”

“There are pills to help with tension. She’d need a prescription.”

I didn’t think I could convince Stevie to get a prescription from her doctor. I wasn’t sure which of these nonprescription items might be best. “I’ll study these to decide what to get her.”

“All right. But she should be the one to choose.”

“She’d prefer to be surprised.”

With closer scrutiny, I discovered some of the quit-smoking items were for people who smoked before breakfast. Others were for those who smoked a small number of daily cigarettes. Different milligrams and packs for the same item supposedly helped those who smoked a lot. Stevie didn’t smoke any cigarettes anymore—that I knew of—so I decided not to get those items.

Of course, she might sneak some smokes when I didn’t see her. The odor of smoke had come from the room she kept locked. Suppose she kept going into that room to hide from me to smoke.

What would I care? I asked myself, then decided I did care. Smoking could kill her. I didn’t want that.

Selecting a product to help her was a much harder task than I’d anticipated. I considered the gum. People either chewed gum or didn’t. I’d seen April chewing but not Stevie.

Lozenges seemed the simplest way to quit. When the urge to smoke hit, just suck on a mint.

Inspecting a package, I discovered these didn’t have spearmint or peppermint flavors. These lozenges might sting when first placed on the tongue. The user was advised to keep one in her cheek, not suck on it. This seemed too much work. I set the box back into place.

Patches? These packs, like all of the other items, displayed milligrams: seven, fourteen, or twenty-one.
Use one patch each day,
the instructions said, also warning the user not to smoke while using the patch.

I walked to the druggist. “What would happen if a person used two of these? And smoked while wearing them?

He looked annoyed. Maybe I’d made him lose count of pills.

“Nicotine is a poison. Would you want a double dose?” He stared like I was really stupid. “It’s probably best if you let your cousin pick whatever she’d prefer.”

“But she might choose nothing.”

He shook his head “Most of us wish we could get people we love to quit smoking. But that’s not a choice we can make for them.”

“I want to help,” I explained.

“Which is great. You might have noticed lots of those packages suggest users also get into a support group.”

“She is in one.”

“Great. That’s the best thing for her. And if she wants some type of stop-smoking aid, we can help find one that suits her. Or her doctor might suggest something newer, like laser treatment.”

“You’ve really helped,” I said, pleased that he had become nice again.

“My mother died of lung cancer. I wished I could have helped her.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. Right before leaving, I decided to get the lozenges. I left the drugstore filled with knowledge, my compassion growing. I sympathized with the druggist. Then reminded myself I needed to stop judging people.

I thought of the priest who’d also been inside the drugstore, the two women joining him. Ladies of the evening?

I chose to think not. They were only his friends. Everyone needed friends.

Driving away, I grinned, wondering how friendly he became with them.

I considered the other man we’d mentioned from their stop-smoking group. Ish Muller had never smoked. Could he really help others?

He’d seemed the most sinister of the group. Maybe he had some other connection to the man who died? I’d try to find out.

I needed to focus on what to do now and wasn’t ready to return to Stevie’s house.

The sun was sinking. Water bubbled in a brook along the scenic route. I pulled over and sat on a wide, cool rock. In no time, tranquility set in.

I envisioned myself in a long, white, gauzy dress, prostate in the midst of candles in the locked room. Nope, I’d fall asleep, and the candles might catch the house on fire. Forget meditating with her candles.

The druggist had mentioned a new laser treatment. If Stevie didn’t agree to try it, maybe I could catch her motionless on her stomach in that room and zap her with a laser.

I smirked, needing to come up with much better ideas.

I hated to leave this spot, but darkness was setting in. Peace settled inside me like a much-needed rest.

* * *

Back at Stevie’s, I didn’t see her inside. I rushed to the kitchen and set the lozenges at her place on the table.

I heard the hall toilet flush. A moment later, Stevie appeared.

She glanced at me. We both said nothing. I couldn’t read her mood but decided she must still be angry with me. I didn’t want her to throw anything.

She stepped across the room and grabbed Minnie. My instinct was to yank my cactus out of her hands before she broke it. She shoved her face close to my plant. “I just pooped.”

A snort escaped my throat.

“I think your friend smiled,” she told me.

“Probably so,” I said, and both of us grinned.

She moved through the kitchen, her gaze swinging to the table. She stared at the lozenges.

“I bought them for you.”

She picked up the box, perused its rear, set it down. Stared at me, stone-faced.

Rap-rap-rap
sounded from the front door. Stevie strode there, leaving me to wonder how she felt about my gift.

Shoes clomped on the wooden floor, followed by a loud voice, giving me little doubt about our visitors.

“Hey,” April said when I went into the living room, where they’d stopped. “Cherish wanted to come show Aunt Stevie her new toy.”

“Ooh, what did you get?” Stevie stooped near the child.

“This.” Beaming, Cherish held up a toy cash register. Corners of it were faded, paper parts of it torn.