Cooper pulls out of his trance. “Then someone else has it.”
But who? Before I have a chance to contemplate that, a commotion erupts in the hall. Voices converge and raise, making it impossible to make out any words.
“Enough of this obstruction!” Beau’s slurry voice booms above the rest and bounces off the high ceiling in the foyer. “My wife is dead! I demand to see her!” A strange, strangled sound erupts, halfway between a gasp and a stifled wail. If I didn’t know he was soulless, I’d swear he sounded heartbroken.
Seconds later, Beau drags himself into the library, grunting as he leans hard against his cane. Huffing for air, he grumbles unintelligible words as he clutches his side with his free hand and hobbles toward the sofa facing Cooper and me. With great effort, he eases into the well-worn depression in the cushions as the wooden frame cracks and squeaks under his weight. As usual, the stench of rancid luncheon meat hovers around him.
“You’ll understand that given his obvious distress, Mr. Beaumont won’t likely be much help in answering your questions, though we’ll be happy to hear what you can tell us about this tragic accident.” A familiar voice, heavily accented and slick as oil, carries from the hall. I know I’ve heard it before but I can’t quite place it.
A second later, Claude Corbeau glides into the library with Sheriff Walker. He’s wearing the same blue- lensed sunglasses and sharp black suit from yesterday.
My heart seizes. What is he doing here? I shoot a glance at Jack then Cooper, hoping to grab their attention and give him some kind of warning, but neither look my way. Instead, they’re both transfixed by the short, wiry man who seems to have the sheriff’s rapt attention.
The sheriff smiles. “I understand. Though I do need to get some basic information, but it should be pretty painless.” He sits in a club chair across from Jack.
Claude takes a seat next to Beau. I hunch my shoulders and lean against the arm of the sofa, hoping he won’t recognize me. But his eyes catch mine and his brows rise slightly as his lips part in a small smile. He knows exactly who I am.
Beau extends his bloated arm behind him, reaching for the scotch decanter on the far end of the console table behind Claude, but the bottle is just out of reach. Wincing, he recoils, then rolls back on the cushion. His breath is heavy and labored. “What’s a man got to do to get a drink around here? I’ve just learned my wife is dead and I’d like something to calm my nerves.” But his voice is so garbled he sounds like he’s already drunk.
“It would be my pleasure, Mr. Beaumont.” Claude rises to his feet. Without taking his eyes off me, he steps around the sofa, grabs a glass from the mirrored tray, and pours about two inches of the honey-brown liquid. “Here you go, nice and stiff. I know how broken up you are.” He places the crystal tumbler in Beau’s outstretched hands.
“Thank you, Corbeau. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Beau gestures as if to wipe away tears, except there’s no trace of liquid, sweat or otherwise, on his pasty face. Then he tosses back his head and downs the scotch in one gulp.
Jack’s lids stretch wide as the name registers. We share a silent exchange of looks, confirming this is the same guy who showed up at Miss Delia’s yesterday. Cooper must understand, too, because he shoots me a quick side glance and tightens his grip on my hand.
Burping, Beau slams the glass next to the ashtray on the side table and turns his attention to Sheriff Walker. “Let’s get down to business, Walker. This here’s Claude Corbeau, one of the finest investigators in the country. I brought him to St. Helena as a second set of eyes on the King Center robbery since y’all have done such a crackerjack job finding the robbers yourselves.” His sarcasm is thick and, judging by the sheriff’s prickly expression, hasn’t been lost. Beau continues. “We were in a meeting at the museum when I learned about my beloved Missy. Corbeau’s offered to help make sure nothing is overlooked.” He lifts a balled fist to his mouth and appears to stifle a sob. But the whites of his eyes are as pale as always and there isn’t a tear in sight.
Claude bows his head in some kind of grand show of deference to the sheriff. “I’m merely here to lend my expertise. This is, of course, your jurisdiction, but I’m happy to offer any support as necessary. Might I get you a drink, Sheriff?”
Walker puts up his hand. “No thanks. I’m on duty. And seeing as you’re so keen to oversee our work, I wouldn’t want to do anything to comprise the integrity of our investigation.”
Claude grins. “Of course not! You misunderstand. I wasn’t offering a hard beverage. It being July and all, and knowing how long you’ve been working, I thought you might appreciate a cool, refreshing drink. Surely that can’t hurt, can it?” Claude walks to the bar and inspects the minifridge’s contents. “I make the absolute best nonalcoholic mint juleps. Believe me, they’re so good, you won’t miss the bourbon.”
The sheriff shakes his head. “Really, that isn’t necessary.”
But Claude gets to work anyway, filling a shaker with ice, crushing a handful of mint leaves, and pouring a mixture of liquids.
The sheriff takes a notebook from his back pocket and flips open the cover. “Now, Beau, when was the last time you saw Missy?”
“Last night. Before we went to bed.”
The sheriff arches his brow. “Not this morning?”
“No, I left for work just after dawn. We builders work around the sun. Can’t afford to waste a minute of daylight. I often sleep downstairs in my study so as not to wake her.” He folds his fingers over his wide belly.
“I see. And did she appear well last night?”
“Of course. She was just twenty-two years old. In the height of her prime.” Beau sniffs, then leans over to extract a handkerchief from his pocket and rubs his nose. “She was supposed to care for me in my old age. As you can see I’m not exactly the picture of health.” His voice breaks. “Forgive me. I can’t believe she’s gone. She was my angel.” His chest shudders.
Jack, Cooper, and I lock eyes. Missy was a lot of things, but an angel wasn’t one of them.
Claude carries two tall glasses of light green liquid the long way around the room, passing behind the sofa Cooper and I are sitting on, and offers a glass to the sheriff. “My famous mint julep, minus the alcohol, of course. It’s my daddy’s recipe.” He beams.
“Thank you, but I’m all right.” He raises his hand in protest, but Claude shoves the glass in his palm anyway. Reluctantly, Sheriff Walker takes it and rests it on the arm of his club chair.
Turning, Claude walks behind our sofa once again, this time stopping to grip Cooper’s shoulder with his spindly hand. He leans close. “I’m sorry for your loss, son. This must be very difficult for you.” He pats Cooper’s neck and then ruffles the back of his hair.
Cooper twists around, releasing my hand as he does so, to address Claude face-to-face. “Thanks.” His voice sounds breathy, vacant.
Claude nods, then glances at me, his eyes twinkling. He looks as if he’s about to say something, but must have changed his mind because he goes back to his place next to Beau instead. Glancing over at the sheriff, he raises his glass. “Don’t let that go to waste, Sheriff. My daddy would be mighty disappointed if I didn’t impress you with his recipe.” He takes a sip.
The sheriff tilts his head and stares hard at Claude. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were a bartender instead of an investigator.”
Claude laughs. “Nonsense. Even in this air-conditioning, it’s still ungodly hot. I’m just trying to be hospitable. There’s enough for your deputies, too, if it meets your approval.”
I can’t help but notice he didn’t make any mock julep for us. Rude. Not that I’d take anything from him, anyway.
“You aren’t going to quit, are you?” Sheriff Walker chuckles then lifts the glass and takes a sip. “Hmm, that’s mighty tasty. You say this has no bourbon?” He smacks his lips a few times, savoring the flavors.
“Not a drop.” Claude sits back and smiles.
The sheriff takes several more swallows. “There’s plenty of mint and sugar. But what’s your base?”
“It’s a family secret, but there’s a little of this and a little of that.”
“Whatever it is, my compliments to your daddy.” The sheriff raises his glass.
“Sadly, he’s passed, but he’s always with me in spirit.” Claude smiles.
Sheriff Walker downs the rest of his drink and squints hard at his notebook, extending his arm from his face to make out the words. “Now, kids, as I understand it, you found Mrs. Beaumont this morning.”
Cooper nods. “Yes, sir. I slept over at Emma and Jack’s place last night.”
Claude leans forward and his lips part in a terrible, snakelike grin. “Emma. That’s a beautiful name.”
