Angelo stepped in. “You hesitated, Mrs. Cook. You’re certain she didn’t expect someone else?”
“Well, Bitty Vanderlund was here earlier. I just assumed lunch was with Steve…Mr. Stone.”
“Do Mrs. Stanley and her trainer have lunch together often?”
“Occasionally.”
“And how often do they see each other?”
“Several times a week.”
“This Bitty Vanderlund,” Micki managed around a mouthful, undeterred by the fact Angelo hadn’t touched his plate of food and was taking all the notes. “They were friends?”
“I suppose so. They’re on committees together.”
Angelo looked up. “Vanderlund. That’s not a typical New Orleans name.”
“I heard Mrs. Stanley call her an outsider before.”
Definitely not friends then. “What were they working on?”
“No idea.” She thought a moment. “With this being Mardi Gras, Mrs. Stanley had many events underway.”
“Like the Queen’s Tea?”
She looked surprised. “Yes.”
“I saw event RSVPs on her desk. What exactly is that?”
“An event for former queens of Carnival. Mrs. Stanley was chairing this year’s event.”
“Was this Bitty a former queen?”
“I don’t know, but—” She hesitated. “I don’t think so.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because she’s not from here. Not originally, anyway. But she’s very nice.”
And in a stratified society like New Orleans, that made a difference. Same in Mobile.
Angelo stepped in. “What time did Mrs. Vanderlund leave?”
“Ten-thirty. No, closer to eleven. I was on the phone with the caterer. Big party here tomorrow tonight. Oh dear, what do I do now?”
“And Mrs. Stanley was fine at that point?”
“Well, I’m sure. Why wouldn’t she have been?”
Angelo, Micki could tell, was struggling to keep his expression neutral. “Mrs. Cook,” she said gently, “because she’s dead now.”
Her expression went blank. Shock, Micki decided. She tried again. “You showed Bitty out, but didn’t see Mrs. Stanley?”
“Oh, I didn’t show her out. She called out goodbye and left.”
Angelo became alert. “You didn’t see her?”
“Like I said, I was on the phone.” She brought a hand to her head. “I don’t feel so well.”
“Why don’t you get some fresh air? And tell Mr. Hernandez to come in.”
The woman gratefully agreed and started toward the door. Micki stopped her on her way out to the patio. “One last question, Mrs. Cook. Did Mrs. Stanley have a secretary or personal assistant?”
“Yes,” she said, looking uncomfortable, “but she…fired her last week.”
Angelo jumped in. “Why’s that?”
She blinked. Twice. “I don’t know.”
Which was complete bullshit. Micki would bet Mrs. Cook knew everything that went on in this house, from something as minuscule as a purloined pastry to as major as the reason a personal assistant was up and fired at the most inconvenient time.
Micki glanced at Angelo. “Firing your assistant right before Mardi Gras? Mrs. Stanley must have had a really good reason.”
Angelo agreed. “It must have been something bad.”
“It was all a big mistake.” She twisted her fingers together. “You’ll have to ask Ginny about it.”
“Ginny? That’s her name?”
“Yes, Virgina Boudloche.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Cook. We’ll need to get her number from you before we leave.”
Chapter Three
2:40 P.M.
They spoke to the yardman next. He knew little. Bitty Vanderlund had arrived as he was leaving for the nursery. Something was eating the azalea bushes; Mrs. Stanley was not happy about it. He had arrived back at the property only minutes before Mr. Stone.
They saved the trainer for last. A fact he was bristling with indignation over.
“This is outrageous,” he said. “I’ve had to cancel three appointments.”
“I feel for you, Mr. Stone.” His expression made it clear to Micki that he didn’t buy it, so she got to the point. “Tell me about your relationship with Mrs. Stanley.”
“It was professional. I was her personal trainer.”
“And that’s it?”
“Seriously? She was seventy-two. What other relationship could we have had?”
That emphatic a denial, especially considering the circumstances, usually meant someone with something to hide. “Mrs. Cook told us you often had lunch with Vivianne.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“She was a wealthy woman.”
“Yeah, she was. She could afford to hire someone like me to keep her fitting in her designer labels. That’s it.”
Angelo stepped in, unperturbed. “Your professional relationship was good. No arguments, anything like that?”
“Of course.”
It seemed to Micki he’d hesitated a moment before answering. “What time was your appointment with Mrs. Stanley?”
Again, hesitation. “One o’clock.”
“You’re certain?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t seem certain.”
“Would you like to check my calendar?”
“That would be helpful.”