Read Online Kent Conwell - Tony Boudreaux 04 - Vicksburg by Kent Conwell - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Kent Conwell
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period, which fortunately was unnecessary
because of the air conditioning unit fitted snugly in one
window.
I placed my laptop on an ancient writing desk, one so old
the scars were dark.
A grin played over my face when I spotted my e-mail
from Eddie Dyson. The grin faded when I read his charge,
three hundred dollars. I shook my head. “Doesn’t look like
much, Eddie. Not for three hundred bucks,” I muttered as I
read through it, then printed it on my portable ink jet.
I read back over the information as it emerged from the
printer.
WR owed almost a quarter of a million on his business,
half of which was in arrears. On top of that, he and his wife,
Dorene, had divorced each other twice and remarried.
Currently, they were divorced for the third time.
Stewart, gay as the sky is blue, owed the same bank over
a hundred thousand, twenty of which was in arrears. In addition to regularly attending gay conventions in New Orleans,
he sported a lengthy arrest record in the City of Sin, but
strangely enough, none in Vicksburg. The former record
must have been the shame to the family to which Annebelle
had referred the day before; the latter, or lack thereof, a tribute to the power of money in a small city.
Of the three, money did not appear to be a motive for
Annebelle. She owned her home, a small, neat brick in Old
Town, and possessed a modest bank account. Still, there are
some who are not content merely to possess a simple home
and modest bank account.
Maybe she was one of those.
I leaned back and studied the report, disappointed in the lack of substance. Still, it provided me another avenue to
explore, the debt of the older brothers. As far as Annebelle
was concerned, I could see no glaring financial motive for
killing her father. Her brothers? Well, that was a different
matter.
From the obvious acrimony displayed the day before
between the three, there was no question in my mind that if
Annebelle Edney spotted either of her brothers lying dead in
the street, she would not hesitate to simply step over him and
go on her merry way.
And neither was there a shred of doubt in my mind that
they would gleefully reciprocate, leaving her behind without
a thought.
Without warning, the patter of gently falling rain sounded
on the wood shake roof. The rain grew heavier. Rain gusted
across the gallery outside my door so I took the back stairs
and cut through the dining room to the parlor.
As I passed the dining room table, I spotted the sympathy
cards I’d opened for Jack the day before. I paused long
enough to scoop them up. No reason I shouldn’t talk to some
of them. Perhaps they could provide me with some useful
information.
I was skimming over them when a severe voice demanded,-“-May I help you?”
Glancing around, I saw a slight woman in a dark dress
with a white lace collar. Her thin face wore a frown, and her
gray hair was pulled back into a severe bun on the back of
her head. She was prim personified. I nodded. “You must be
Alice.”
She pursed her lips.
“I’m Tony Boudreaux, a friend of Jack’s. I’m the one who
drove him over from Austin.” I glanced at the ceiling. “He
put me in the upstairs bedroom”
Her face softened. “I didn’t know Mr. Jack had a guest”
“Sorry. We should have let you know.” I don’t know why
I felt the urge to apologize, but it just seemed the thing to do.
With a brief nod, she said, “Would you care for some tea,
Mr. Boudreaux? Fresh made. I’m getting some for Mr.
Jack.”
For a moment, I started to decline, but despite it being the
middle of the summer, the drizzle running down the outside
of the windows sent a chill through me. “Sure. Sounds
good”
She nodded. “I’ll bring it to you in the parlor with Mr.
Jack’s.”
I stopped her. “Alice, can I talk to you a few moments
first?”
She nodded, a puzzled look on her face. I guessed her to
be in her seventies or so, but she had aged well.
because of the air conditioning unit fitted snugly in one
window.
I placed my laptop on an ancient writing desk, one so old
the scars were dark.
A grin played over my face when I spotted my e-mail
from Eddie Dyson. The grin faded when I read his charge,
three hundred dollars. I shook my head. “Doesn’t look like
much, Eddie. Not for three hundred bucks,” I muttered as I
read through it, then printed it on my portable ink jet.
I read back over the information as it emerged from the
printer.
WR owed almost a quarter of a million on his business,
half of which was in arrears. On top of that, he and his wife,
Dorene, had divorced each other twice and remarried.
Currently, they were divorced for the third time.
Stewart, gay as the sky is blue, owed the same bank over
a hundred thousand, twenty of which was in arrears. In addition to regularly attending gay conventions in New Orleans,
he sported a lengthy arrest record in the City of Sin, but
strangely enough, none in Vicksburg. The former record
must have been the shame to the family to which Annebelle
had referred the day before; the latter, or lack thereof, a tribute to the power of money in a small city.
Of the three, money did not appear to be a motive for
Annebelle. She owned her home, a small, neat brick in Old
Town, and possessed a modest bank account. Still, there are
some who are not content merely to possess a simple home
and modest bank account.
Maybe she was one of those.
I leaned back and studied the report, disappointed in the lack of substance. Still, it provided me another avenue to
explore, the debt of the older brothers. As far as Annebelle
was concerned, I could see no glaring financial motive for
killing her father. Her brothers? Well, that was a different
matter.
From the obvious acrimony displayed the day before
between the three, there was no question in my mind that if
Annebelle Edney spotted either of her brothers lying dead in
the street, she would not hesitate to simply step over him and
go on her merry way.
And neither was there a shred of doubt in my mind that
they would gleefully reciprocate, leaving her behind without
a thought.
Without warning, the patter of gently falling rain sounded
on the wood shake roof. The rain grew heavier. Rain gusted
across the gallery outside my door so I took the back stairs
and cut through the dining room to the parlor.
As I passed the dining room table, I spotted the sympathy
cards I’d opened for Jack the day before. I paused long
enough to scoop them up. No reason I shouldn’t talk to some
of them. Perhaps they could provide me with some useful
information.
I was skimming over them when a severe voice demanded,-“-May I help you?”
Glancing around, I saw a slight woman in a dark dress
with a white lace collar. Her thin face wore a frown, and her
gray hair was pulled back into a severe bun on the back of
her head. She was prim personified. I nodded. “You must be
Alice.”
She pursed her lips.
“I’m Tony Boudreaux, a friend of Jack’s. I’m the one who
drove him over from Austin.” I glanced at the ceiling. “He
put me in the upstairs bedroom”
Her face softened. “I didn’t know Mr. Jack had a guest”
“Sorry. We should have let you know.” I don’t know why
I felt the urge to apologize, but it just seemed the thing to do.
With a brief nod, she said, “Would you care for some tea,
Mr. Boudreaux? Fresh made. I’m getting some for Mr.
Jack.”
For a moment, I started to decline, but despite it being the
middle of the summer, the drizzle running down the outside
of the windows sent a chill through me. “Sure. Sounds
good”
She nodded. “I’ll bring it to you in the parlor with Mr.
Jack’s.”
I stopped her. “Alice, can I talk to you a few moments
first?”
She nodded, a puzzled look on her face. I guessed her to
be in her seventies or so, but she had aged well.
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