Death Comes to Dogwood Manor Page 19

  At that moment, the door to the studio swung open, and who should enter the room? Ivy Solomon, as if she’d eavesdropped on our conversation through a hole in the wall.

  “There you are!” She immediately headed for the counter, where she proceeded to give me a big hug. “I heard all about what happened to you. You poor thing!”

  She wore a different St. John suit today—an understated gray number with pearl buttons—and her face was wild with worry.

  “Don’t fret about me, Ivy. I’m fine.” I pulled away from her to downplay what’d happened. “Really. Lance had everything under control.”

  “You say that now.” She shook her head. “When I think of what that girl could’ve done to you. Brrr. It gives me shivers.”

  “I’m just glad she’s in custody.” I still could picture the look on Erika’s face when Lance slapped handcuffs around her wrists and led her away from the lobby. “She actually thought she could blame everything on me and Lance would believe her.”

  “That’s what I heard, too,” Beatrice said. “Everyone knows she’s a lunatic.”

  Ivy reached for my hand now. “Thank you for going out on a limb like that. I never expected you to put yourself in harm’s way for me.”

  I twined my fingers around hers. “It’s the least I could do. But enough about me. How are you holding up?”

  While she appeared normal from far away, the minute we stood eye to eye, I noticed that deep circles underscored her eyes and the creases above them had deepened even more. She obviously hadn’t slept in days.

  “I’ll be okay.” Her fingers pressed against mine. “At first, I was so angry at Herbert, I didn’t have time to be sad. I know this is hard to believe…but I still loved that man, even after everything he did to me.”

  “You’re a saint.” I could only imagine her shock when she first found out about her husband’s affair, especially since it happened in the very mansion where she’d come to spend her time while she planned his funeral. “If I were you, I would’ve clobbered Evangeline Roy first and let the cops ask questions later.”

  “Believe me, I wanted to.” She leaned away from me, her fingers still laced around mine. “But then I remembered what you said: She’s not worth my time. Why should I drive myself crazy thinking about her, when Herbert and I had some good years together before she ever came along? We’re talking twenty good years, and only one bad one.”

  “Atta girl,” I said. “Don’t let her ruin that for you.”

  All this talk about her late husband reminded me of one last question I longed to have answered. “Say, Ivy. I know it’s probably too soon to ask you this, but what will you do now?”

  She shrugged. “What I’ve always done. I’ll go back home to Baton Rouge and rattle around in my big ol’ house. What with Herbert gone, and Trinity, too…”

  “Then don’t go home,” I blurted out. Although I was as surprised as anyone by my response, the idea wasn’t so far-fetched. “You own a lot of property down here in Bleu Bayou. Why don’t you take over Dogwood Manor and turn it back into a house?”

  She quickly shook her head. “No. I don’t think I could do that. As a matter of fact, I’ve been thinking about something. Now, tell me if you think this idea is crazy.”

  She finally pulled her fingers away from mine, and I replaced my hand in my lap. “Okay. What did you have in mind?”

  “I want to donate Dogwood Manor to the city of Bleu Bayou. Just give it away.”

  It took a moment for her words to sink in. When they did, my face broke out in a grin. “That’s wonderful! The city would love to have the property. You could donate it to the Bleu Bayou Historical Society. I know the person who runs it, and she’d treat that mansion like gold.”

  “Wow.” Beatrice spoke so loudly, her earrings once more jostled. “That would be so cool! Maybe the city could turn it into a museum.”

  “That’s what I was thinking,” Ivy said. Although haggard, her face looked more peaceful now. “Maybe something good can come from all of this. I was going to call the mayor in the morning and tell him.”

  “I know he’ll accept the offer,” I said. “He’d be crazy not to. And then you’d have a good reason to come down and visit me.”

  “That’s the other thing I was thinking.” She smiled and turned to leave. “Looks like I’ll be coming to your shop a whole lot more in the future.”

  “Which I’d love.” I nodded at Beatrice. “We’d both love it. You can drop in on us any old time. The door is always open.”

  Ivy waved as she made her way through the studio. Once she reached the French door, she didn’t have time to open it, though, because someone else rushed into the studio. It was Ambrose, who ducked around Ivy and made a beeline for the counter.

  “There you are! I’ve been worried sick about you.” He threw his arms around me as soon as he reached the counter.

  “I’m okay,” I squeaked. “Uh, Ambrose? You’re kinda suffocating me.”

  “Sorry.” He reluctantly pulled away. “It’s just that my imagination got the best of me. I kept thinking about how that horrible woman could have hurt you. What if she took you hostage?”

  “Oh, Bo. You’ve been watching too many cop shows on TV.” I managed to smile again, which felt so wonderful after the stress of the past hour. Just knowing Ambrose worried about me meant I finally could relax. “I’m fine. Really.”

  “So, what now?” Beatrice asked. “What’s going to happen to Erika Daniels?”

  “Well…” I leaned back on the bar stool, warmed by the feel of Ambrose’s hand on my shoulder. “Since Lance has her in custody, she’ll be formally charged with first-degree murder. That’s because she planned everything to a T. I guess we’ll have to testify against her at some point.”

  “Yuck.” Beatrice shuddered. “I don’t know whether I can face her, after what she did.”

  “It’s okay, Bea. You don’t have to do it alone. We’re all in this together.”

  “Now, where have I heard that before?” Ambrose’s tone was playful. “Oh yeah. It was the first time you found a dead body around here. No, wait. I think it was the second.”

  “Don’t tease her, Ambrose.” Beatrice shot him a look. “It’s not Missy’s fault she keeps finding dead bodies. Or that the detective wants her to help him. She’s just curious, is all.”

  “Hmmm. Isn’t that what killed the cat?” he asked.

  “Stop it.” I swatted him, knowing full well it wouldn’t make a lick of difference. “Maybe I should just hide out in my workroom from now on, so no one can find me.”

  “Normally I’d agree with you,” Ambrose said. “But I’ve got a better idea. I know you haven’t had a thing to eat today, and I’m starving, too. How about if I take you back home and we both clean up for an early dinner?” He threw Beatrice a glance. “Would you mind?”

  “Not at all. I can hold down the fort. I think Missy should take a couple days off, to tell you the truth.”

  “Would you two stop talking about me as if I wasn’t here?” Although I tried to sound peeved, no one was buying it. “I guess I can leave for the rest of the day. It helps that we have the interview with Today’s Bride behind us.”

  “Plus, now you don’t have to worry about paying Erika for all this stuff.” Beatrice waved her hand around the room. “I can work with the building manager to get our things out of storage. Then I’ll work on getting everything else cleaned up and returned.”

  “That’d be great.” My shoulders felt lighter and lighter. “It’d be wonderful, actually. I guess it’s true what they say about the grass being greener on the other side. I mean, c’mon. Right now, I’d give anything to have our old studio back again.”

  “It sounds like Beatrice is gonna make that happen, so you’re free to have some fun.” Ambrose cupped my chin in his hand. “I promise I’ll make you forget all about Erika D
aniels.”

  “I don’t doubt it.” I leaned in for a good, long kiss, until Beatrice cleared her throat.

  “Okay, you two lovebirds. Get a room already. Let’s keep it G-rated around here.”

  “That’s what Odilia LaPorte always says.” I laughed at the coincidence. “I guess it’s unanimous.”

  Ambrose helped me off the stool and deposited me on my feet. “Enough chitchat already. Let’s get going before anything else happens.”

  He winked at Beatrice, who slyly winked back.

  Neither of them knew I had witnessed it. “Okay, you two. What’s going on?”

  Bo pretended not to hear me, while Beatrice suddenly became fascinated by a spot on the counter.

  “Really,” I said. “What’s going on?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Ambrose began to pull me through the studio, as if he couldn’t get me away fast enough. “I’m just taking you out for a nice, well-deserved meal.”

  He gently nudged me through the French doors, until I landed in the parking lot. I glanced down to avoid the harsh glare of the sun, and that was when I noticed the stains on my white slacks. Although they were clean enough for the interview, sawdust freckled the pant legs now, and carbon powder dirtied the knee. Time to shower and change into a fresh set of clothes.

  We hotfooted it across the parking lot, steam rising from the asphalt in waves. Luckily, Ambrose’s Audi sat in the second row. I headed for the passenger side, where I hopped from one foot to the next.

  He swung open my door with a flourish. “Your carriage, madam.”

  I dove onto the passenger seat and watched him walk around the hood of the car. He whistled while he walked.

  “So, nothing’s up?” I asked, when he entered the car from the driver’s side. “Since when did you take up whistling?”

  “Since today. It seemed like a good time to start.”

  Since he obviously wasn’t going to confess to anything, I gave up trying to pry it out of him. Instead, I watched the scenery pass my window as we drove along LA-18.

  Soon, we approached Dippin’ Donuts, the bakery owned by Grady Sebestyan. Grady was the former flirtation of mine that had gone horribly awry.

  It felt like a lifetime ago, but only eight months had passed since Grady asked me out to dinner. It turned out to be one of the longest nights of my life, since he wouldn’t talk about anything but himself and his glory days playing high school football.

  Although Ambrose and I weren’t even a steady couple at that point, I missed him the entire time. I longed to see his face on the other side of the picnic table at Antoine’s Country Kitchen, instead of Grady’s.

  “Whatcha thinking about?” Bo glanced at me in the rearview mirror as he drove.

  “I don’t know.” We drew nearer to the bakery, where a fluorescent arrow shot from the roof. “Okay, that’s not true. I was thinking about my date with Grady.”

  “Ugh.” Bo’s gaze promptly returned to LA-18. “Did you have to bring that up?”

  “Hey…you asked what I was thinking about. It feels strange to see Grady’s bakery now. I thought he’d never stop talking about himself that night. Talk about an ego.”

  “Trust me, I remember.” Apparently, Ambrose had bad memories from that night, too.

  “The worst part is, I can’t go back there now. And Grady makes the best beignets. Guess I’ll have to do without.”

  “Not necessarily. You always could order ’em off the Internet. Heck, I’ll even order you a batch from Café Du Monde in New Orleans. That way, you’ll never have to see Grady again.”

  “Really, Bo? We’re talking about Bleu Bayou here. I’m bound to run into him at some point.”

  “Then I’ll definitely order you some from Café Du Monde. At least that’ll improve your odds.”

  “Why, Ambrose Jackson. I do believe you’re still jealous.”

  “Of that guy?” Ambrose puffed out his cheeks. “Pppfffttt. Don’t be ridiculous.”

  While he said one thing, Bo’s actions said another. He floored the gas pedal until the car whizzed past the bakery. We didn’t slow down until the Sweetwater mansion appeared on the right-hand side of the road.

  Here was my excuse to change the subject. “Say, I wonder whether Hank knows what happened this morning?” By now, most people in town should know about Erika Daniels’s arrest, thanks to the local rumor mill.

  “Hard to say.” Ambrose snuck a look at the mansion, too, as we drove past.

  Fortunately, Hank remembered to close his front door this time, and the lion door knocker eyed me as we moved down the road. “Remember that night when we found him asleep in his dining room, with the front door wide open?”

  “Sure do,” Ambrose said. “He helped us polish off a bottle of wine, if I remember correctly.”

  “That’s right,” I said. “Waunzy told me Hank wanted to buy Dogwood Manor at one point. Guess he won’t have the chance to do that, since Ivy wants to donate it to the city.”

  “I’m not surprised.”

  “I think he and Waunzy Boudin should go into business together and find another old house to renovate. She has the know-how and he has the money, so it could work out.”

  A moment later, the cottage I shared with Ambrose appeared on the horizon, in all its bubblegum-pink glory. In addition to the blush-colored paint, a trellis of yellow crossvine, which I’d planted earlier in the summer, added a splash of color to the wall.

  Ambrose pulled the car into our driveway. “Time for a nice dinner, and I’ll then research how to buy you beignets off the Internet.”

  “Thanks, Bo.” I opened the door on my own this time and began to amble up the walk. Unlike my earlier, disastrous, date with Grady, I fully intended to spend lots of time on my hair and makeup for my date with Ambrose.

  Once inside the house, I headed for my bedroom, which sat at the end of the hall. The closet door stood open, and clothes tumbled onto the pine hardwoods. Several shirts hung half-on and half-off their hangers, and a pile of shoes covered the floor. My stuff seemed to multiply overnight during the wedding season, when I barely had time to breathe, let alone clean out my closet.

  I reached for one of the first things I spotted: a tropical Lilly Pulitzer shift, which was my go-to option for special nights. My hand stalled over the hanger, though, since the shift’s neighbor offered an intriguing alternative. A pure-white Carolina Herrera dress, with cap sleeves and a neckline embroidered with gold thread, which I’d bought on a whim at a local resale shop.

  I chose the Carolina Herrera, then pawed through the pile of shoes until I found some Steve Madden wedges. The cherry-red shoes were a little bold, which somehow felt right after the craziness of the day.

  I quickly dressed, then headed to the bathroom to fix my hair and makeup. My bathroom shared a wall with Ambrose’s, and the plink of water hitting shower tile sounded through the wall.

  Interesting. Bo rarely showered in the evening, since he took an extra-long one each morning before work. I wonder what that means?

  With a shrug, I returned my attention to the mirror. I’d carefully applied makeup before my interview with Today’s Bride, but that was hours ago. My cheeks looked pale again, and my eyes bare, since the taupe shadow and charcoal eyeliner were long gone.

  After washing my face, I brushed more Chanel Rouge blush on my skin. Then I added smoky-gray eyeshadow and ringed my eyes with more liner. I stepped back to appraise the result.

  Not bad. Then again, maybe I needed the makeup to detract from my frizzy hair. The humidity always managed to plump my hair up to ridiculous lengths, and my auburn locks looked like an untamed lion’s mane.

  I took my hairbrush firmly in hand. Once I made up my mind, I brushed everything into a high ponytail, which I secured with an elastic band. Then I wound a few strands of hair around the base of the ponytail,
to hide the plastic, tucked in everything nice and tight with a bobby pin, and voilà! I had a sleek, simple design, which would complement the clean lines of the dress and my pearl stud earrings.

  I flicked off the bathroom light when I finished and sauntered down the hall, renewed by the makeover. Ambrose met me near the front door. He wore my favorite polo, which matched his Tiffany-blue eyes to a T. My heart flip-flopped at the sight of him.

  “Awww…you wore my favorite shirt!” I leaned into him and noticed the Acqua Di Gio cologne on his neck. “And my favorite cologne. You are so sweet.”

  “Me? Look at you. You look like a million bucks. I’m just grateful you let me hang out with you.”

  He leaned forward to kiss me, and I didn’t resist.

  After several seconds, I finally pulled away. “Uh, Bo? If we don’t get out of here soon, we’re never going to make it to the restaurant.”

  “That wouldn’t be so bad, would it?” He gave me another kiss, this one even longer. It was a miracle my knees didn’t buckle on the spot.

  The only thing that kept me upright was a dull ache that corkscrewed through my stomach. “We have all evening, Bo. But if I don’t eat something soon, you’re going to have to scrape me off the floor with a spatula.”

  “Well, we can’t have that.” He finally released me, then wrapped his arm through mine to escort me through the house and onto the driveway. As always, he gallantly swept open the passenger door when we reached the Audi, then closed it again, once I’d settled onto the seat.

  “By the way…where’re we going?” I asked, once he had a chance to open the driver’s-side door.

  “It’s a surprise. But it’s someplace special. You’re going to love it. Promise.”

  “There you go again…being mysterious. Trust me, I’ve had enough mystery for one day.”

  “You can never have too much mystery.” He gave a throaty laugh, which made my knees turn to jelly again.

  The only way I’d make it through the car ride without pouncing on him was to focus on something other than his handsome face. So I turned to the window and began to study the scenery around me. In no time at all, we’d driven to the outskirts of Bleu Bayou, which meant that dinner at Miss Odilia’s Southern Eatery was out of the question. Ditto for the Riverboat Queen, a former steamship docked on the banks of the Mississippi.