Goose in the Pond - Earlene Fowler [110]
I switched the phone to the other ear, not quite certain what I was hearing. “Are you sure?”
“Absolutely. Your little quilter killed her hubby in cold blood with one gunshot wound to the chest. Then again, with a shotgun I guess one’s all you’d need.”
“But . . . what . . . how . . .” I stuttered, trying to connect this with the gentle, peace-loving woman I thought I knew.
“Here it is in jingle length, as you requested. Husband drank. When he drank, he beat her. She didn’t leave, heaven knows why. She had a baby. Baby cried one night and irritated drunk husband. He backhands baby. Baby dies. Your friend gets a shotgun and pumps him full of buckshot. She gets off with temporary insanity. Case closed.”
“And apparently she and D-Daddy moved as far away as they could to start a new life.”
“Appears so. She and Mr. Stanhill both had very valid reasons to leave their respective homes and head west.”
“And reasons to kill someone who might reveal their secrets.”
“Like I said, a nest of water moccasins. But tell me, wouldn’t your dear husband be privy to this sort of sordid background history?”
That was a very good question. “Thanks, Emory. Can’t wait to get together. Hugs and kisses to you and Uncle Boone.”
“Don’t forget our agreement,” he was saying as I hung up the phone. “Tell Elvia my lips are anxiously awaiting hers.”
I hung up. “Over my dead body,” I said to the phone, knowing that’s exactly what it would take for him to get a kiss from Elvia.
I leaned back in my chair and pondered the information Emory had given me. A soft knock sounded at the door. “Benni?” Evangeline’s soft voice called through the door.
“Come on in,” I said, feeling a spasm in my stomach.
“I need to talk to you.”
“Sure, have a seat.” I started shifting things around on my desk, picking up my stapler and setting it neatly next to the tape dispenser. Then I started fiddling with the pencils in my pencil cup, hoping my face didn’t reveal the shock I was feeling.
Her gaze was cool and level. “I saw my file open on your desk the other day. You know, don’t you?”
I nodded, not knowing what to say.
“I didn’t kill Nora,” she said, lifting her heavy black hair and laying a hand on the back of her neck. “Let me try and explain. She and I became pretty close, as you probably guessed. We were drinking wine one night at her place, and she started telling me about how she felt when her son was dying. After a couple of glasses, I don’t know, my guard came down and I hadn’t talked to anyone about it for so long. And with her losing a child, too, I just thought—” Her eyes darkened. “I told her about Antoine. He was my little boy. I had no idea she wrote that column. And I had no idea what sort of person she was.”
“Was she going to put it in her column?” The thought of it shocked me as much as the discovery about Evangeline. “How could she do that to you when you both had lost a child?”
Her laugh came out harsh. “Because after she heard my story, she became furious. She said that, unlike her, at least I had some control of the situation. I could have saved my child. That I could have left or shot Joe before he killed Antoine.” Her chin dropped to her chest, and her voice became a whisper. “Didn’t she think I’d thought of that so many times myself? Those same thoughts keep me up night after night until sometimes I feel like I’ll go crazy. That’s why D-Daddy brought me here. Everything in Louisiana reminded me of Antoine and how I failed him as a mother. But I guess Nora felt I hadn’t been punished enough. She was going to make sure people knew just what sort of mother I’d been.”
The barbecued chicken rose up sour in the back of my throat.
Evangeline looked up, her cheeks wet, and said, “Gabe knows.”
“He does?”
“He didn’t tell you? I thought you were looking in my file for him.”
I just shook my head no.
She stood up, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand. “I have an alibi for that night. D-Daddy and I were at home.”
I nodded, but even she had to realize it wasn’t an airtight alibi. D-Daddy was an old man whose hearing wasn’t necessarily