False Pretenses - Kathy Herman [43]
“Sick cowards and then some,” Savannah said. “I have a more descriptive name in mind, but it would be unladylike to say it out loud.” She clamped her hands over her mouth and walked toward to the kitchen.
“I wonder when the funeral’s going to be.” Father Sam moved a spoon slowly back and forth in his coffee. “Saint Catherine’s isn’t big enough to hold the kind of crowd Remy’s funeral will draw, especially if it gets national coverage.”
“It’s already gettin’ that,” Tex said. “I saw a CNN van parked out at the Roux River Inn. I suspect a lynchin’ is big news in this day of political correctness and hate crimes.”
Zoe looked out at the morning sky, hot pink quickly fading to pastel. “I wonder if any of the networks are brave enough to step up and demand justice when the killer might be black. Everyone’s so worried about being politically correct.”
“Justice is justice,” Tex said. “Who cares what color the jerks are?”
“You’re preaching to the choir,” Zoe said. “Regardless of what the media does with it, no one here is going to let this go until Remy’s killer is brought to justice. I just hope there isn’t trouble. All we need is for a bunch of hotheads to take this into their own hands.”
“Young lady,” Father Sam said, “we’ve been so busy talking about Remy’s situation, you didn’t finish telling us about your friend Annabelle’s funeral.”
“There’s nothing more to tell. It was a traditional Catholic funeral Mass.” So now I’m lying to a priest, too?
“Musta been a mess at da cemetery,” Hebert said, “wit da heavy winds and rain down da bayou.”
“We didn’t go to the cemetery. Annabelle was cremated. The urn with her ashes was put in the mausoleum owned by her husband’s relatives.” Isn’t that what she told Pierce? Suddenly it didn’t sound right. “Listen, guys, I need to get to work.” Zoe rose to her feet. “Maybe if we talk through our feelings together, we’ll figure out how to deal with Remy’s murder while we’re waiting for the authorities to solve it.”
“Let’s hope they do,” Tex said. “Doesn’t sound like they have any leads yet.”
“Well, I know sometin’ fuh shore.” Hebert stared at his hands. “No red-blooded Cajun is goin’ to hold his tongue after one o’ his own got strung up like a feral hog and left to die.…” His voice trailed off, and a runaway tear trickled down his cheek. “Dis town owes it to Emile to make shore Remy’s killer don’t get away wid dis.”
Zoe felt as if her heart were in a vice. In all the years she’d known Hebert, this was the first time she had seen him cry.
Vanessa sat at an oblong table in one of the interview rooms at the sheriff’s department, holding Carter in her lap and waiting for someone to talk to her about the results of their investigation at Langley Manor.
“Mommy, why do all the deputies have real guns?” Carter sat Georgie upright on the table. “So they can shoot the bad guys?”
“They don’t want to shoot anyone, but the guns are to protect nice people from bad guys who want to hurt them.”
“Is the candy man a bad guy?”
Vanessa brushed her hand through his bangs. “We don’t know, sweetie. That’s what we have to find out. We still don’t know for sure there is a real candy man.”
“Mommy, I alweady told you he was weally in the closet.”
Vanessa kissed his soft cheek, which smelled faintly of peanut butter. “I know you did, and the sheriff’s deputy wrote it down, remember?”
Carter gave a nod. “Good. How long do we have to stay here?”
“Just until Mommy talks to one of the deputies.” She glanced at her watch. It was already after one. What was taking so long? “Why don’t you sit over at the little table and put your ABC puzzle together?”
“Okay.” Carter slid off her lap and went over and sat at a child-sized table in the corner.
She heard a knock at the door, and then Sheriff Jude Prejean and Deputy Stone Castille stepped into the room.
“Sorry to keep you waiting, Mrs. Langley,” Jude said. “We’ve been inundated with calls and emails and media questions related to the hanging, and I wanted to be in on this.”
“Thanks. And