Dead on the Bayou. June Shaw

my freezer. I would defrost packs of them in my microwave.

      Promising to get to bed early so we might focus better in the morning about who might have really killed Mrs. Wilburn, we agreed to get together then, and I drove home. My thoughts swirled to baby Noah, Dave, and a dead person. They brought me back to that most horrible time in my life when my singing disorder began. I gripped my steering wheel and nodded, aware that I had held onto my sister really tight. I was fairly sure she also realized why. Soft words from a soothing Christmas carol came from my mouth and carried me back to the moment I was a child shooting hoops in our driveway near our older sister I adored when the unthinkable happened.

      Reaching my street, I belted out a different song about what I wanted for Christmas, and changed it to my sister Crystal. Tears I wouldn’t allow back then spilled onto my cheeks. I wiped at them, using the back of my arm and spreading warmth across my face like a rain-slick highway in summer.

      Yes, I felt finally ready for a romantic relationship and really cared about being close to Dave. How much more did I want to stay close to my one remaining sister?

      But would I really need to choose?

      Chapter 6

      Feeling my stomach empty once I rose after tossing in bed for hours, I dragged myself to my kitchen and remembered I hadn’t eaten when I got back from Eve’s last night but recalled what I’d wanted. I yanked the freezer door open and stared inside. Lots of quart-size zippered bags I could see through held shrimp and fish or crabmeat and oysters. Others held sliced okra, strawberries, and eggplant. I placed my hand on a frigid pack of rice, one of red beans, and another on smoked sausage. For breakfast?

      Why not? I wouldn’t be able to think straight about murder, romance, and suspects while I was so hungry.

      I unzipped an inch or so from each bag, zapped them in the microwave with the defrost button, and soon sat with a tall glass of milk. I stirred the red beans and gravy in with the rice and sliced the smoked sausage into small pieces. If I wasn’t in a bit of a hurry this morning, I would have baked sweet cornbread sticks to go along with the meal.

      Ready soon afterward, I walked to Eve’s. A humid breeze pushed in from the south. Even though foods didn’t normally bother my stomach, I started to feel sorry I’d eaten so much with each step I took. I didn’t need to think hard to know this discomfort came more from getting closer to the home of the woman I’d found murdered. She would no longer be in that house beside Eve’s, but her son would. The back of my neck tensed when I recalled the fury in his eye with his assertion that I killed her.

      He’s feeling better now, I told myself, while I forced positive thoughts to my mind. Royce would have had time to consider and know that neither Eve nor I could be a murderer.

      Since my street ran parallel to Eve’s, I needed to only cross the road and walk through a two-foot wide space between fences to reach her place. Her patio held comfortable cushioned furniture and a burbling, bleach-scented water fountain. I rushed my final steps to her back door. Trying to remain positive but still fighting apprehension, I gave her doorbell only one ring and then used my key.

      “Hey, it’s me,” I called out.

      From the den, she stepped into her kitchen. “I know who you are, Sis.”

      “You’re a much happier person this morning,” I pointed out, pleased to see the spring in her step and hear the light tone in her voice. “You must have talked to your grandson.”

      The smile on her lips widened. “Nicole called. She put the phone to his ear, and I cooed to him. I think Noah might have cooed back to me.”

      I was fairly sure the little guy was still too young to let out many sounds except the burping he’d done when we were with him or the crying or expelling gas.

      “He was probably trying to say your name.” I spoke with a grin.

      The sounds of someone close hammering intermingled with a whining noise. “Let’s see what’s going on outside,” I said. “Maybe if we’d paid better attention, we would have noticed who went around Mrs. Wilburn.”

      We stepped out the back door. I glanced at what made the only current nearby sound—the angel pouring her clear water on the plastic goldfish in her fountain. In the yard to the left, Jake walked near the fence behind his place carrying a weed whacker. With a pale blue cap, snug T-shirt, and shorts, he looked appealing, especially once he noticed us and waved. His wide smile created dimples in his cheeks.

      “Nice day, isn’t it?” he asked.

      “Very nice,” Eve replied before he returned to slicing the tall grass edging his land.

      If he still wasn’t attached to another woman since his divorce, I wished he and Eve would get together. Or possibly she was already interested. I knew she had borrowed bread from him at least once. Maybe she’d borrowed other things, or he had borrowed from her. Surely she had gone back to return the items, not because he would need them but so she’d have an excuse to get close to a good-looking man again. The gleam in her eye when she waved back at him gave me hope that a relationship between them might be progressing. That would solve all of my problems about not hurting her if Dave and I started dating each other.

      The pounding of a hammer came from the right. It sounded like it came from the front of the Wilburn house. We walked along the side of Eve’s house toward the street, and she and I stared at each other, mouths open at what we saw.

      HOUSE FOR SALE BY OWNER. The sign was large and the print bold and also held a phone number. Royce finished hammering it on a post in the front yard.

      He straightened when he saw us. Lifting the hammer higher than his head, fury tightened on his face, and he seemed ready to throw that tool. A carol rolled up my throat. I grabbed Eve’s hand and rushed to her front door.

      Slamming us inside, she locked the door and we backed away from it. “He really believes we did it,” she said.

      “Or I did. What’s wrong with him?”

      “Well, I think he’s frightening. I’m going to dread going out there when he’s around.”

      “You could come and stay with me.” Even before I’d completed the words, she shook her head. I wouldn’t have wanted to run away from my neighbor like that either.

      We stepped into the den. I glanced through the open doorway into her art room, where two canvases on easels displayed her earlier dark mood. At least now, with murder to distract us, she wouldn’t submerge herself again in such deep gloom. Murder was horrible, and even if I hadn’t really known Eve’s neighbor, I was sorry someone exterminated her. I was sorry for anyone who loved her, and—“Wait a minute. I’ll bet he killed her.”

      Eve pointed toward their house. “That young man out there who says we did it?”

      “Yes. I don’t believe he thinks we killed his mother. I think he did it.” While Eve shook her head, I continued my thought. “We’ve learned that he’s a big gambler, and he probably owes a lot of money he can’t repay. He doesn’t seem to have any kind of job ever since he’s come back to his mother’s home. He doesn’t own a car and uses hers. Now he can sell her house and take the money.” I ran out of steam and reasoning.

      Eve’s eyes pinched tighter, her expression sad. “Would you kill Mom if you needed money?”

      “What a horrible thing to say.” My chest pumped up with outrage. Just as quickly, it deflated. “I’m sorry. That was a wretched idea.”

      “Whether he owns the house yet or not, he’s probably putting that sign out there to let us know he wants to get away from us. I can’t blame him if he really believes we’re responsible. After all, we did find her.”

      “So I imagine she didn’t have any other children.”

      Eve shook her head and shrugged. “She and I never spoke enough for me to find out. She always seemed to want to keep to herself, so I left her