False Pretenses - Kathy Herman [29]
“Yes, it is, Emile. I’m so sorry. Can you recall if any black person ever threatened you or your son?”
“Nah. We got along wid everyone.”
“Any African-American who might want to get back at you—a dissatisfied customer? A disgruntled neighbor? Anyone?”
“Not dat I know of.”
“Did Remy ever make remarks about black people—something that could be misconstrued as racist if someone didn’t know Remy thought like a child?”
Emile shrugged. “News to me, if he did. I know what you’re gettin’ at, Sheriff, but dose folks accepted my boy. We fished off da bridge wid ’em all da time. I don’t look at any person as better dan another, and dat’s how I taught Remy.…” Emile’s voice cracked. “Lot o’ good it did me.”
“Did Remy work with any blacks at the Ledger?”
“Didn’t work wid anybody. Took care o’ his own route. Dere’s a supervisor, but she’s Hispanic.”
“Could there have been an African-American who felt he got aced out of the route they gave to Remy?”
“I don’t see it. Remy had da same route for eleven years. Folks at da Ledger made up a simple route he could remember, but dey treated Remy like everybody else. He earned his money. Did a real good job for ’em.”
“I know he did,” Jude said. “I was down at Zoe B’s many times when he brought the paper in. Remy took pride in his job.”
“Dat he did.” Emile wiped a tear off his cheek with the back of his hand. “He was a good boy.”
“Remind me how old Remy was,” Aimee said.
“Thirty-two. O’ course in his head he was still a little boy. His mind jus’ never grew up. Made things harder for him, but dere was somethin’ real special ’bout him too.”
Aimee nodded. “Yes there was, Emile. His death is a loss to everyone in Les Barbes. We all feel it.”
“Don’t know what I’m gonna do now.” Emile’s lip quivered. “Remy’s all I had.”
“We released his name to the media just a few minutes ago,” Jude said. “And I’m going to have to go back out there and confirm the content of the note we found on Deputy Castille’s squad car. Unfortunately that means you’re going to get swarmed by people wanting to ask you questions. I imagine the networks are already setting up outside your house. Do you want to give a statement?”
Emile shook his head. “I jus’ wanna go home and close da blinds and let it all sink in. I need to sit alone wid my thoughts.”
Jude glanced over at Aimee. “Deputy Chief Rivette will escort you home and make sure the media stays out of your face. But I have to tell you, Emile, hate crimes like this draw national attention. Life’s going to get even tougher for a while.”
CHAPTER 9
The next morning, Zoe stood at the bathroom mirror and fastened the strand of pearls that seemed to be the perfect accessory for the only black dress she owned. When was the last time she wore it—when Pierce’s uncle Gaston died last year?
She saw Pierce’s reflection in the mirror and felt his arms slip around her, his newly shaven cheek next to hers, the spicy, woody fragrance of his Tuscany cologne unmistakable.
“You look much too pretty to be going to a funeral,” he said. “But I know you’re hurting. You shouldn’t have to face this alone. Maybe I should go with you.”
“I’ll be fine as long as I know you’re watching things here. We can’t both be gone.”
“Actually we can. I trust Dempsey to do the cooking and run the kitchen. And Savannah could coordinate things in the dining room and would jump at the chance to make some overtime.”
Zoe held his gaze in the mirror. He could not come with her. She had to sound believable. “You are incredibly sweet to want to be with me today. And I love you for it.” She turned around in his arms and cupped his face in her hands. “But I need to be present, really present, for Annabelle’s family. I know myself. Unless I’m confident everything is operating smoothly at the eatery, I won’t be able to turn loose of it.”
“I see.”
“Pierce, you’re the only person I trust to run Zoe B’s. I really need you here.”
“All right, babe. I want to do whatever I can to make