“He must be about twenty-three. If I remember correctly, he’s a couple of years older than Sondra.”
“Sounds about right,” Thurston replied. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Miss Ducote, I’d best be going. I’ll drop by the hospital on my way to the office, see if I can find out anything more about Miss Mireille.”
An’gel repeated her earlier admonition to be careful and bade the lawyer good-bye. Once the door closed behind him, she wandered over to the stairs. Should she go up and check on Sondra and Trey? Make sure the girl came to no harm?
The prospect of climbing to the third floor did not entice her, and she decided to let the situation alone. After all, Thurston knew Trey and she didn’t. If the lawyer thought Trey wouldn’t harm Sondra, despite the violence of the boy’s declaration, then there was no need for her to stick her nose in.
With a guilty start An’gel remembered Jackson and Estelle. She had promised to share any news of Mireille with them right away. She cast one more look up the stairs before she headed for the kitchen.
When she walked in, Estelle was on the phone talking to someone about the wedding. “No, I don’t know when it will be, but we surely can’t have it while Mireille’s in the hospital.” She caught sight of An’gel and told the person on the other end of the conversation she would call back.
“Have you heard something?” Estelle demanded.
“Yes, I have,” An’gel said. “Where is Jackson?”
“Probably asleep in the pantry,” Estelle said. “He has a chair in there where he goes and nods off whenever there’s a quiet moment. He’s too old for the job, but of course Mireille won’t make him retire.” She folded her arms across her chest. “Well?”
An’gel shared the information from Dickce’s text message, and Estelle nodded. “At least she’s not dead yet, the heavens be praised.” The housekeeper sniffed loudly. “I’ve started calling people to tell them the wedding’s been postponed. Figured I should get the word out right away.”
“Do you need help with that?” An’gel asked. She was a little surprised that Estelle apparently wasn’t worried about using the telephone in the midst of a storm. An’gel would be happy to assist with the notifications, but not until the storm passed completely.
“No, I’m fine,” Estelle said. “There’s not much else I can do right now.” She turned away, and An’gel felt like she had been dismissed.
“I’m sure you’ll let Jackson know about Mireille,” An’gel said. Once Estelle nodded, An’gel decided to go back to the front parlor.
Once more seated on the sofa, An’gel decided she would practice her texting skills by sending Benjy a message. She wanted to be sure that he, Endora, and Peanut were doing all right.
Less than a minute after An’gel sent her inquiry, Benjy responded with “Doing fine. R U OK?” An’gel stared at the screen a moment, slightly puzzled, but then she realized Benjy was using an abbreviated form to communicate. She texted back that she was fine also and that she would be back at the cottages once the storm had passed. Benjy acknowledged that with “OK.”
An’gel put her phone down and stared rather blankly around the room. After a moment she got up and went to the front windows to look out. The sun was trying to emerge, she could see, and the rain was much lighter. She hadn’t heard any thunder for a while now, she realized. Perhaps she could borrow an umbrella and make her way back to the cottages. She considered that but then decided that the ground would be slippery and she didn’t want to risk falling.
She was startled by noise coming from the direction of the stairs and went to the door of the parlor to see what was going on. She was in time to see Trey Mims running down the last few treads. He appeared not to have seen her as he strode to the front door, which he slammed shut behind him as he stepped onto the verandah.
Such a noisy young man, An’gel thought, shaking her head. She wondered if he was in such a hurry all the time. Her thoughts turned to Sondra, and she wondered whether she should go up and check on the girl. She listened for a moment and was relieved to hear a door close loudly upstairs. Deciding that Sondra was probably fine, An’gel hovered in the doorway, still feeling restless. She also felt tired, she realized.
Since there wasn’t anything else she could think to do, An’gel figured she might as well lie down and rest for a while. She turned off the lights in the front parlor, kicked off her shoes, and made herself comfortable on the sofa.
She lay there and stared at the ceiling, listening to the now-gentle pattering of the rain against the house. She willed herself to relax, to let the stress of the morning slip away, and soon she was drifting off . . .
Dimly An’gel was aware of a voice nearby, a voice that sounded upset. She struggled to identify it and in doing so came out of her slumbering state.
Horace Mims was talking, and An’gel, still drowsy, didn’t move from her supine position.
“. . . told you already it’s just a minor cash-flow issue.” Horace paused. “Don’t be giving me that crap, Bubba, you know I’m good for it.” Another pause, longer this time. Then an expletive, and An’gel winced. “If I have to, Bubba, I’ll come right down there and beat some sense into your head.”
After that the voice trailed away, and moments later An’gel sat up, cautiously, wondering where Horace had gone. She peered through the dimness in the parlor toward the door into the hallway. To her surprise, Horace stood there, apparently looking up the stairs, with a bright smile on his face.
“Hello, darlin’,” he said. “What’ve you been up to?”
“Hewwo, Gwanpa Howace,” a high-pitched child’s voice responded. “I’ve been pwaying in my woom.”
That had to be Tippy. Curious to see the child at last, An’gel slipped on her shoes and tiptoed to the door. She didn’t want Horace to see her, because then he would realize she had most likely heard his end of the recent phone conversation.
When An’gel peered around the door frame, she saw Horace’s back to her, and that pleased her. She glanced past him to stare at the elfin child who stood on the fourth tread from the bottom, gazing solemnly at her step-grandfather. An’gel had expected Sondra’s daughter to have coloring similar to her mother’s, but the child had pale brown hair, the sides held back by butterfly barrettes, and a slightly olive-skinned complexion. She was also taller than An’gel had reckoned, more the size of a first grader rather than that of a child who wasn’t quite four. Tippy wore sandals and a plain cotton dress, and her features vaguely resembled her mother’s. Overall, however, the child was ordinary-looking, with none of Sondra’s startling beauty.
“Is your mommy up in her room?” Horace asked.
Tippy nodded. “She’s been in dere an awf’wy wong time, too. Unca Twey was up dere, and dey was yewwing at each udder. Unca Twey can yeww pwetty woud, just wike Mommy.”
Horace snorted, and Tippy giggled. Horace must have made a face at the child, An’gel guessed.
“I hope you didn’t pay too much attention to all that yelling,” he said. “Grown-ups shouldn’t be making all that noise when you’re trying to play.”
Tippy nodded. “Yewwing is wude, Gwanny Miway says. I went in my cwoset and pwayed so I didn’t hear dem so much.”
“That’s good, darlin’. I’ll have to talk to Uncle Trey and your mommy about making all that noise when you’re around.” He held out his arms. “Now, who around here would like to ride on my shoulders while we go in the kitchen and see if Miss Estelle has any treats?”
Tippy squealed and clapped her hands together. “Me, Gwanpa. I want to wide on your showders. And I want a tweat, too.” She hopped down the remaining treads, and Horace scooped her up, then flipped her around and set her on his shoulders, one leg on either side of his head. He bounced her lightly, and Tippy laughed.