Death By Rum Balls Read online

  “Julia, what made you invite your brother to this party in the first place? After all the things you’ve told me about him, I didn’t think you would invite him to a nice holiday get-together like you had planned,” I said and tried to catch her reaction with a sideways glance.

  “I just wanted to see if we could mend the bridge. We were going to have to work together regarding the inheritance our dad and mother left us. We didn’t touch any of it or ask for our share after mother died because of how dear old dad was. Neither of us wanted to have anything to do with him, even if it was through attorneys,” Julia said.

  “Why didn’t you get along with him? It sounds like you both had bad experiences growing up that should have made you closer,” I said.

  “I think Larry was turning into my dad the older he got. If he knew how much money we would inherit, I’m sure he would have been impossible to work with. My dad had a good size nest egg off the labor of my mother. She worked all those years, and daddy dearest made her save every cent she earned. She never got to spend any on herself. Once she bought a new dress, shoes, and a purse. When my dad came home and saw her wearing something new, he hit her,” Julia said. “Larry never took up for our mother, not once.”

  “Julia, he was a kid too. It’s hard to stand up to your parents, no matter how old you get,” I said. “Those men Larry worked with sounded like they knew your brother pretty well. They knew he was lonely and that he picked out or went for, wait, how did they put it?”

  “The broken one,” Julia said.

  “Maybe Larry wanted to help someone to make up for not being able to help you or your mother. Did you ever think of that?”

  “No, I guess I didn’t,” Julia said. We rode in silence for awhile.

  “How much is your inheritance?” I finally asked.

  “It’s over ten million dollars,” Julia said, as if she just told me to pull over for gas at the next station.

  “What?” I almost drove off the road thinking I heard wrong. “For real?”

  “Yes. He was a penny pincher and lived like a hermit. I don’t know where or when he thought he would start spending the money,” she said. “He was like a hoarder. The service I sent to clean out his house after he died said they took over thirty industrial-size garbage bags out of his home stuffed with plastic grocery bags. He had them all separated by color; white ones, tan ones, blue ones.”

  “Did Larry know how much your inheritance was or did his wife?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. The attorney only told me Larry knew about it, but he wasn’t sure if Donna knew. I want to think Larry married her after my dad died. The old coot died about three weeks ago, and Larry said they got married two weeks ago.”

  “What does the will say?” I asked still astounded by the amount.

  “Mister Know-It-All didn’t have a will,” Julia said.

  “No will? He had that much money and he didn’t make a will?” I asked in disbelief. “Well, this state has definite laws pertaining to inheritance, with or without a will. You might want to ask Jiff.”

  “I guess my old man thought he was going to live forever. He was mean enough that I thought he was gonna live forever. Mean people don’t die. They just get older and meaner,” Julia said. “The attorney in Baton Rouge called the morning of the party to tell me what the estate was worth with the real estate, investments, and savings. I asked him not to tell Larry until I had a chance to talk to him. I planned on talking to him after the party. He apologized and said Larry had been by his office earlier on another matter unrelated to the inheritance issue, and the attorney told him what he was now telling me,” Julia said. “So, Larry knew.”

  “Did the attorney give you any idea what Larry else wanted to see him about?” I asked.

  “No, but I wonder how much Donna knows about all this—about Larry’s share of the inheritance. The bigger question is: how much trouble is she going to be over it?” Julia said.

  “Under Louisiana law, if he inherits money, she isn’t entitled to it anyway unless they comingle the funds like in a joint account,” I said. “Did Larry make a will? You need to check with that attorney to find out if Larry left her any in case he died first. I think it’s called right of survivorship in case they both die at the same time. It outlines how money is inherited if there are no children involved.”

  Julia just shrugged by way of an answer. She was deep in thought and it seemed all of this was a lot, even for her to handle.

  “If Donna did know about the inheritance, I wonder if she also knew how much,” I said.

  “I didn’t know it was going to be that much. I don’t think Larry did either. That was a surprise. I expected it to be a chunk of money since Scrooge saved every cent. He only called us to say happy birthday or merry Christmas. He was so cheap, he called so he didn’t have to buy a card or stamp.

  “There’s no telling how much Donna Twilight knows,” Julia went on. “Larry was no genius, but I bet he decided to keep her in the dark. He was shrewd when it came to money, his money. I didn’t even know he was married until they showed up and told me three hours before the party. I found out about my inheritance two weeks ago and that was the day after he died. I guess that was enough time for Donna to arrange a wedding.”

  “Who else knew about the inheritance? Did you tell LB?” I asked.

  “No. I didn’t tell anyone. When I called Larry to invite him to the party, he told me he went to see Dad’s attorney. He told me he knew about the inheritance, but he didn’t mention whatever else he was there for. He didn’t mention Donna or anyone he was about to marry, no matter what she calls herself,” Julia said and pulled out her compact and applied more Fabulous Red lipstick.

  I thought Julia or Larry had to have told someone else. That much money someone is about to inherit doesn’t stay a secret for long. Frank knew and told me. I didn’t want to snitch on Frank. Maybe Frank overhead Julia talking to Larry or LB. I’d have to ask him. Maybe Donna Twilight, aka Cherie Sassone, overheard Larry and told someone. Or she snooped through his things. Snooping. Isn’t that what Frank said LB was doing when Julia wasn’t home?

  “I need to stop for gas,” I said. “And you’re paying.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  The ride home with Julia flew by once she started talking. She told me about Patrick, the affair, and Sheila.

  “Are you still seeing him after the flour incident?” I waited for an answer. I was determined not to make another sound until she answered me.

  “Now and then,” she said finally. “I know it isn’t a good idea.”

  “Julia, why? He has nothing to offer you, and you are hurting another woman in the process. Sheila hasn’t done anything to you, well except express her disapproval by distributing a ten-pound bag of Gold Seal Flour all over your kitchen. Was it the all-purpose one?”

  “Ha. Ha.”

  “Think about it. You have been making a genuine effort to meet someone. You joined a dating service,” I said.

  Julia immediately started to complain about how much of a rip-off it had been, so I had to jump in adding, “Okay, I know that was a bust, but the point I’m trying to make is you’ve been making an effort to meet someone to have a relationship with. Patrick can’t have that or give that to you. You were going to try speed dating to meet someone, and you did. You are only sabotaging yourself in relationships that can actually work by entertaining a married man.”

  “I know,” was all she could say.

  “We deserve better. I feel like I could mess up this thing with Jiff every time I hear Dante’s name or his voice. You and I deserve to be happy, and we need to find the man who wants to be happy with us. We really need to support each other in this,” I said. “Not just you and I, but other women looking for what we’re looking for.”

  “You are right,” she said. “Sometimes, I’m my own worst enemy.”

  “You had a good day today. You learned good things about your brother. All those men really liked him and enjoyed w
orking with him. He looked out for you in case something happened to him. He even tried to help Donna, Cherie, whatever her real name is. You heard what kind of life she came from.”

  “I need to find out more about that marriage and the reason Larry met with my dad’s attorney,” Julia said.

  I was thinking the same thing.

  The rest of the drive was uneventful and we rode in silence. I was going over in my head all the work I had to wrap up at the office and the Christmas cards I had to finish addressing so I could mail them. I still needed to buy gift certificates for my mother and sister. Since my sister was pregnant, I decided to get her a gift certificate at a baby store that also sold maternity clothing. If there had been a book called The Art of the Never-ending Complaint, it would have been a perfect gift for my mother. No matter what I got her, she wasn’t going to like it and she would ask where to return it. I decided to give her a gift card from a major credit card company she could use anywhere. I know she has a MasterCard so that’s it. Done. I had already bought my dad the power tool he dropped a thousand hints at wanting—something called a jigsaw.

  Also gnawing on my subconscious were the nine gold foil boxes of rum balls. Then I remembered what Agnes told me and it hit me. I had to call Hanky.

  I dropped Julia off and made a phone call to Hanky. I told Hanky it didn’t matter what the tox screen said about the boxes of rum balls. The rum balls were not the cause of death. I told her to have the toothpicks checked. Then I headed to pick up the last two items I needed for Christmas gifts and stopped at my parents’ home to drop off the presents I bought for my family and Woozie.

  I pulled up to my parents’ home and there was a large, blow up stork wearing a Santa hat and holding a baby in a sling. Great. I don’t suppose they are worried the neighbors would start counting on their fingers from the date of the wedding to now to see if my sister, Sherry, was pregnant before they got married. The neighbors always seemed to know everyone’s business anyway, so I guess my family is past that point of concern.

  Only Woozie was home and I found her in the kitchen doing what she does best, cooking. Woozie had been with my dad’s mother as a cook and housekeeper, then she took care of my dad when he married, much to my mother’s dismay. Woozie makes it very clear she is here for my dad, not my mother. If I ever get married and have my own home, I’m hoping Woozie is still going strong enough to take care of us.

  “Wha’ you mean you not comin’ here for Christmas Eve?” Woozie asked, right after she wheeled around from the pot she was stirring on the stove and stood with both hands on her hips, still holding a big wooden spoon. I was sitting at the kitchen table. “I’m makin’ all the things you and your daddy like. I’m makin’ the turkey, cornbread stuffin’, oyster stuffin’, my biscuits you love, and I got a Kringle for your dessert.”

  Wow, she was pulling out all the stops.

  “I have other plans. I’ve been invited to go to Jiff’s parents’ home for Christmas Eve, and I accepted the invitation,” I said and tried to take a sip of the fresh coffee Woozie made for me. “That’s why I’m dropping off your gifts today, so all of you have them to open.”

  “You lucky yo’ momma and sister be out shoppin’ for da baby, cuz dey sure not gonna be happy to hear dis,” Woozie said, still standing with hands on her hips, only now the spoon was dripping on the floor.

  “When do you worry about making my mother happy? She and Sherry are so wrapped around the baby coming they won’t care,” I said. “They’re buying more baby gifts? It looks like there’s about a hundred wrapped under the tree already to Baby Alexander Deedler, my grandbaby, our first little angel, and on and on. Why do they even wrap them when the baby isn’t even here yet?” I asked Woozie. “Besides, you and I both know my mother won’t miss me for a second.”

  “But yo’ daddy will. Dis gonna break his heart. He gonna be next door at da Deedlers wit out you for da first time since you were a baby just home from da hospital. Hmm, hmm, hmm,” Woozie said and turned back to stir the pot.

  “You know in my heart I always wanted things to work out with Dante. I haven’t heard from him since before Thanksgiving. If you recall, no one seemed to miss me here at Thanksgiving when I was at Jiff’s house for dinner,” I said.

  “Dante Deedler ain’t talked to you since Thanksgiving?” Woozie asked. “Mens.”

  “It’s been more like since Halloween. I just talked to him yesterday and he told me that he was in Houston for a meeting, and when the conference is over, the return flights to New Orleans are completely full. He might have to wait until Christmas night to get back,” I said. “This is so typical of him. He waits until the last minute to tell me he hasn’t planned anything or has something else he has to do. Its Christmas. Don’t you think he knew this at least a week ago?”

  “Mens,” Woozie said again, shaking her head. This was Woozie’s catchall phrase for what any man did to her, to me, to her sister, to any woman, that we did not understand. “Now I see why you don’t wanna go over there. But yo’ daddy is gonna be brokenhearted, you mark my words. Besides, he wants to see you, not the Deedlers or the gift you bought him.”

  “None of that matters anyway. I have other plans with Jiff and his family for Christmas Eve,” I said. “What about you? Do you wanna know what I got you for Christmas?”

  “Woozie don’t care what you buys for her.” Woozie used the third person when she was terribly interested in anything I had to tell her or give her.

  “Well, you’re gonna be with Silas and your family, and I have some gifts for you to bring to them,” I taunted her by pulling up a big Macy’s shopping bag full of professionally wrapped gifts in Macy’s boxes with Macy’s bows.

  “Like what?” Woozie feinted noninterest but turned to see what was in the shopping bag. She stopped stirring the pot and left the spoon in it. If something took Woozie away from anything to do with food or cooking, it had to be good. She took a step toward me to see what might be coming out of the Macy’s bags I had hauled in with me.

  “Like a new hat, gloves, and matching scarf to go with the new winter coat I bought you.” I made a grand gesture of putting the overflowing bag in the center of the table. She had complained for weeks her old coat “had done had it” and she didn’t have time to go shop for a new one. Then she said she was going to wait until everything went on sale after Christmas. By then, I thought she might not find her size. Woozie was a tall, big woman. Even without heels she towered over me. If I had to guess, Woozie was at least six foot five in bare feet.

  “What? A new coat? Brandy girl, you don’t need to go spendin’ your hard earn money on Woozie,” she said and started opening the smaller of the gifts. “What’ this? Dis don’t feel like no coat.”

  “That’s the surprise gift,” I said. It was a new handbag to complete her winter ensemble. “Dere’s money in dis here purse,” Woozie said, opening it immediately and seeing the cash.

  “Well, that’s for shoes to go with your new coat and accessories. You might want a nice pair to wear with the coat to go to church. I didn’t think I could find the shoes you would like, so there’s some cash, and besides, all purses should come with some money in them for good luck,” I said. The truth about the shoes was I would never attempt to buy Woozie shoes since she had the biggest feet on the planet, and I knew I’d never find a pair to fit her, let alone be comfortable. She wore very wide, very big flat shoes. She was on her own to find a nice pair of shoes.

  “You spent too much on Woozie. You return all dis and get your hard earn money back,” Woozie said.

  “No can do, Wooz. I bought it all on sale, and all sales are final,” I said. It wasn’t true one bit about being on sale, but it was one of those little white lies we learned in catechism as kids.

  “I’m glad you didn’t buy me no shoes. You probably only shop for shoes where you buy those high heels things you always be wearing. Don’t you know any stores that sell flat, comfortable shoes in your size?”

  Woozie was o
pening the large box with the coat and then proceeded to try it on. “This fits Woozie perfect.” She had put on the hat which was a cloche like she always wore, but this one had a large, pretty silk flower on the side. Everything was a beautiful, dark burgundy which Woozie referred to as dubonnet—French for a sweet, red wine similar in color. She opened and put on the matching gloves, the scarf, and was holding the handbag as she walked back and forth in the kitchen showing me how she looked in them.

  “You look like a fashionista in your new things,” I said and gave her a hug and a kiss.

  “I look like what?” she asked.

  “A fashionista. It’s a good thing.”

  “Oh, I know it’s a good thing cuz I feels good in dese. I’m glad they was all on sale. I just wanna tell all my friends that you, Brandy girl, made Woozie a fashionista,” she said, smiling from ear to ear.

  Woozie was always more like a mother to me than my own mother. My sister, Sherry, was clearly my mother’s favorite, and all who came in contact with her knew it because she told them. And I quote, “Sherry is my favorite, and its too bad Brandy isn’t more like her.”

  Nice.

  “I’ve got to get back to work. Here’s gifts for the rest of your family,” I said, handing her another shopping bag. “Tell all of them I love them, and Merry Christmas from me.”

  She grabbed me and gave me a smothering bear hug, burying my face into her bosom the size of which I had never seen a bra in any store to fit. As kids, my sister and I saw Woozie’s underwear when she used our washing machine on days she cleaned. We called them ten-gallon brassieres. It made me wonder who makes them in this size.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Frank called while I was at work trying to manage a team of people to divide and conquer a boatload of data we had to go through and find where the money was going out of the company.