Dead Man Talking

  ~

  My luggage was already in the Peach Room, the loveliest room next to the Master and Mistress Suites. Those two, as the names suggest, were for the lord and lady of the manor house. Married couples back when the plantations were built seldom shared a bedroom. They each had their own domain, meeting in bed only to procure the all-important heirs. Society considered ladies too genteel to have their rest disturbed when husbands had to work late. Personally, I’d decided this was a male dictum, a need for privacy and chance for indiscretions. But our family lore indicated Grandmere Alicia shared the Master Suite with Grandpere Jean out of love, not duty. In her day, the Mistress Suite became a nursery, her children close instead of on the third floor, which held rooms for the servants and a nursery/school room. Other married couples over the years, though, took advantage of the separate accommodations.

  A double set of cushion-lined bay windows allowed a view into the back yard. Satin peach drapes framed the windows, hems pooled four inches on the glossy hardwood floor. The overlong drape length was one of those understatements of plantation wealth — a visible announcement of financial security by a disregard for the cost of the material.

  Miss Molly jumped onto a bay window seat, and Trucker settled just below her. I stroked the cat and reacquainted myself with the view. You could see the maze, and this was how our parents learned of our mischievous treks into that convolution. Whoever stayed in the Peach Room during a visit had a bird’s eye view of our antics, and some parents delighted in tattling on the unruly behavior of children not their own.

  The décor in this room soothed the soul. A gilded coal bucket of magnolia branches set in the gray marble fireplace until weather chilled enough to justify a fire. A muted blue and peach tone Persian rug covered the floor to within a foot of either wall, and a lady’s boudoir desk with a delicate chair set between the bay windows. My favorite piece, a cherrywood sleigh bed, set against the far wall, white crocheted bedspread and pillow shams highlighted by peach and blue throw pillows. You had to climb onto the high mattress with the help of a needlepoint-covered stool and scoot into position. I sometimes sprawled and wiggled my way into a comfortable position on the firm mattress, heedless of the old-fashioned, squawking springs.

  With a final stroke to Miss Molly, I smoothed Trucker’s head and rose to unpack. Clothing went in cedar-lined wardrobe, another piece of furniture handed down over the years, underwear in the gigantic bureau. Then I grabbed my laptop and the briefcase of files and disks. No time like the present to set up in the library. I was too wound up to nap, and besides, experience with my sleeping habits told me sleep now would interfere with tonight’s rest.

  Instead, I laid the laptop and briefcase on the bed and curled up beside Miss Molly, gazing past the maze at the huge live oaks bordering the landscaped Esprit d’Chene property. Sir Gary’s mysterious, undeliberate murder wasn’t the only foul play on my mind. Beyond the live oaks lay acres of fallow fields and woods. Had Jack and his crew combed them for clues? It would be fairly easy for someone well acquainted with Esprit d’Chene to slip up by this route. Duck through the maze, hidden from view since the Peach Room was empty.

  Did that mean the murderer was someone Katy knew? Or who also knew which rooms were occupied at any given time? Heavens, surely not a family member! No one stepped forward to claim Esprit d’Chene except Katy after Uncle Clarence put it up for grabs. They all had their own lives, far removed from the isolated Piney Woods, no matter how lovely it was.

  Could the murder have been an attempt to make Katy leave? Approaching and leaving by the maze didn’t explain the tire tracks, though. And we still had no confirmation of the identity of the corpse. But if it was Bucky Wilson-Jones, I’d have to give the idea careful consideration. That might mean someone else had found out Katy’s secret, and I’d been extremely certain only she and I shared that knowledge. Well, Katy, me, and the newly-deceased Bucky.