Cake on a Hot Tin Roof by Jacklyn Brady

Author:Jacklyn Brady [Brady, Jacklyn]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Mystery, cookie429, Kat, Extratorrents
ISBN: 9781410451774
Publisher: Berkley
Published: 2012-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Nineteen

With Mellie Boudreaux’s claim echoing through my head, I rejoined Aunt Yolanda on the chairs and made small talk. Maybe I should have told her what Mellie said, but I didn’t want to worry her. She had enough on her mind, what with Uncle Nestor’s bad heart and all.

Besides, no matter what Mellie might have overheard, I knew my uncle. He might have a short fuse and an explosive temper, but he’s not a murderer.

After a while, Sullivan reappeared with a still-sullen and silent Uncle Nestor and told us we were free to go—for now. I wondered if the police were taking Mellie Boudreaux’s story seriously, but I didn’t want to ask in front of Aunt Yolanda, so I swallowed my questions and promised myself I’d ask Sullivan later.

We dodged reporters on the way back to the car and settled in for the drive home, Uncle Nestor in the front seat with me, Aunt Yolanda in the back. I tried asking Uncle Nestor about his interview with Sullivan, but he still wasn’t talking, so we drove back to the house in silence broken only by an occasional observation from Aunt Yolanda about things we passed.

She seemed fascinated by the Mardi Gras decorations and crowds gathering at such an early hour everywhere, but I suspected she was just trying to distract me so I wouldn’t upset Uncle Nestor. To a casual observer, I’m sure she looked cool, calm, and collected, but I picked up on subtle clues that revealed how agitated she was. This was tough on everybody.

The minute we got to the house, Uncle Nestor climbed the stairs to the guest room and Aunt Yolanda followed a minute later, saying that she needed to lie down for a while.

Alone for the first time in several hours, I checked my cell phone and noticed that a message had come in since the last time I looked. It was from Miss Frankie, letting me know she was having lunch at The Shores with her neighbor, Bernice, and the police were still gathering evidence from the crime scene. I wondered what she had up her sleeve, but my call to her house phone went through to voice mail and Miss Frankie doesn’t carry a cell phone.

I puttered around the house for a few minutes, listening for footsteps coming from upstairs. I needed to get to work. Yeah, I know. Edie had advised me to stay away. But I’m no good at taking advice. Besides, working always helps me think—and I desperately needed to sort through the jumble of questions rolling around in my head.

I waited until I was convinced that Uncle Nestor and Aunt Yolanda were settled in for a while, then changed into a pair of jeans and a T-shirt and scribbled a hasty note explaining that I’d gone to the shop. The bright noon sunlight filtered through the trees as I drove the back streets to the Garden District, and the city began to work its magic on me. Stately antebellum

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