Dead Priest in Maude's Chicken Yard

By Marie Broussard-Landry

A Cajun Cozy Mystery and Love Story. Fast-driving Audie Boudreaux, in her yellow Cordoba, and the other Sleuths of Sunrise—Maude, a retired teacher who runs a roux-making business, and Miss Katie, who at ninety-something still mows her own grass and never misses an episode of Murder, She Wrote—are anxious to find a killer, if only to prove that the ill-fated priest was not murdered by one of their friends. Sadly, only Louise, Audie’s pretty niece, is troubled by Father Henderson’s death, and only his mother will miss him. As Audie says, he was “hoist by his own petard.” Maude informs Sheriff Daly, “Father Henderson was not a popular priest.” He was, in fact, cruel and manipulative. So many suspects, but who killed him and dumped his body in the chicken-killing yard?

Join Audie, Louise (whose life is in a state of flux), and the other Sleuths in this tasty visit to Cajun country, as they drink coffee and eat bourbon-pecan balls on Maude’s front porch, enjoy the scent of her sweet-olive bushes, listen to the gentle murmuring of her chickens, hide suspects (their friends) from the sheriff, and search for the real killer. The Sleuths are determined for Louise to find a new husband, although she is still mourning her late husband and says she is not ready. Since the handsome Sheriff Daly is new in town, and might arrest one of their friends, he is not their first choice. Audie would prefer Charles Moreau, a family friend and local chef who wants to whisk Louise away to Paris. Despite all these demands on their time, the Sleuths still manage to look out for their neighbors in the small South Louisiana town of Sunrise, and reminisce about the old days, when you could still pray in public places and drive too fast on the highway without fear of hitting a bicycle.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Marie Broussard-Landry
• Release date: Jan 26, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370332786

Marie Broussard-Landry

Greetings from South Louisiana! I was born here, and raised on stories of my Acadian ancestors: their courage and strength, love of family, and their unique customs, traditions and food. I have worked as a human resource professional, a librarian, and taught courses in library science.While pursuing my Ph.D. in Information Science, I studied reading interests and how readers choose fiction that resonates with them. I am still delighted to help friends and family find books they enjoy reading! The availability and acceptance of technology in libraries also interests me. When compiling the results of the research done for my dissertation (the topic was the job satisfaction of reference librarians), I realized, from write-in comments, that some librarians were uncertain about the relatively new, and increasing presence of computers in public libraries. This was in the mid-1990s. In retrospect, it appears that the early fears were unfounded, and books and computers both have a place in public libraries, and complement one another; much like the macaroni-and-cheese Louise and the handsome sheriff discussed on their picnic!I taught and lived in Florida, Oklahoma, and South Carolina, and then returned home to South Louisiana. I am currently hard at work writing the next mystery in the Sleuths of Sunrise, Louisiana, series, starring Audie (and Rusty!) and her yellow Cordoba, Louise, and the other Sleuths.

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Dead Priest in Maude’s Chicken Yard

A Sleuths of Sunrise, Louisiana, Mystery

Marie Broussard-Landry

Copyright © 2017 Marie Broussard-Landry

All rights reserved.

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This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, incidents, and businesses are either the products of the author’s imagination, or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, is entirely coincidental.

Ebook formatting by www.ebooklaunch.com

This book is for

My family, for understanding my need to write.

William Faulkner, who inspires me to write, and whose work reminds me of the strength of the human spirit.

Father Joseph Verbis Lafleur. A holy man, compassionate and courageous. Military chaplain, war hero, and the best baseball player at St. Ben’s.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

About the Author

CHAPTER 1

Daddy is convinced Audie’s going to kill someone with her big yellow Cordoba one day. I don’t agree with him, of course, but on that sunny June afternoon, as we sped around a sharp curve in the Mississippi River Road, she almost did. I sucked in air and squinted.

This is it. She’s going to kill one of those bicyclists. They’re all over the road.

Fete-p-tan! Audie shouted, honked and braked, squealing her tires and scattering the bicyclists like a flock of startled blackbirds. Nothing thumped against the Cordoba, so I hoped they got out of the way. I looked behind us several times anyway, and breathed a sigh of relief. The bicycles and riders looked fine and had spread out again to cover both lanes of the River Road. A few were still getting out of the ditch, but no one was hurt. No one was dead.

I willed myself to breathe normally again. Although I wasn’t driving, it would have felt like my fault had we hit anyone, since I was in the car. I sometimes worry about causing bad things to happen (a quirk I am trying to overcome), so I looked back one more time. The guy on the first bicycle, his face angry under a shiny black helmet, was giving us the finger. I hoped Audie didn’t see him. No such luck. She looked in the rear-view mirror.

Look at that, Louise! He’s flipping us off!

I must have looked surprised.

She continued, I know what that is. Your sweet mama probably doesn’t, but I do. Now quick, get my pistol from under my seat and point it at him like you’re going to shoot.

We can’t shoot him.

Not shoot. Just act like it. If I wasn’t so worried about getting to Maude’s, and Father Martin’s dead body in her yard, I’d stop the car and wing him in the arm.

Audie was still frowning and looking in her rear-view mirror. She has close-cropped brown and gray hair, and wears dark, short-sleeved, loose-fitting jumpsuits. She’s a large, plump woman, five-eight, well over 200 pounds, and way past assertive. I watched the road ahead, hoping it was clear. Even the Cordoba’s special Guardian Angel wouldn’t keep us out of two close calls in one day.

Aw. Fete-p-tan! Now they can’t even see us. She sounded so angry.

The Mississippi River levee slid by on the right, green grass and patches of clover flowers. I turned to watch the cars and trucks inch up the gravel drive to the Plaquemine Point ferry landing, so Audie couldn’t see the hurt in my face. She’s never even raised her voice to me. A cigarette-rough voice, but gentle-sounding with me.

"I’m sorry Doll Baby, I didn’t mean to sound cross. I’m just worried about Maude. Those couyon bicyclists all over the road where they don’t belong. When I was growing up out here, we drove our cars and rode our horses where and how we wanted to. People knew to stay out of our way." Audie gave the accelerator an angry stomp with her brown canvas shoe.

Poor Audie still can’t accept that the small town of Sunrise, in South Louisiana, where the River Road follows the twisting Mississippi River, is no longer her home, her sanctuary. Awful Old Grandpa sold the family place in Sunrise years ago, before he died, so his children and grandchildren couldn’t live there. (Awful Old Grandpa is my name for him; he was as awful as Lucifer.) Ever spiteful, he then tried to give the money from the sale to the Catholic Church, but Audie, Uncle Cotton, Daddy, and their attorney stopped him. It wasn’t Grandpa’s money to give away. Grandma Cecelia’s father, Papa Vincente, had built the family fortune and left it to her. She would have wanted her family to have it.

It’s all right, Audie. I smiled and patted her plump arm, I know you’re anxious to get to Miss Maude’s.

She turned and smiled back at me, her dark eyes relieved behind those thick green-tinted glasses she always wears. I wished she would watch the road instead, but felt safe anyway. Audie and her yellow Cordoba, with its Mason jar of cold coffee, bottle of Charlie perfume, and shiny pistol, all under the tan leather seat, were like a protective shield around me, a talisman better than any New Age crystal.

Thank you for understanding. She looked at the road again.

I thought of a happy memory, touched her arm and said, Remember how Grandma Cecelia used to say life was difficult enough without misunderstandings?

Audie smiled and nodded, That’s why she liked to read so much. She said books were peaceful.

Grandma used to read and recite poetry to us every other Sunday, after a dinner of chicken stew and rice, white beans, smothered corn, green beans with bacon, buttered bread, and almond-pecan cake. Every other Sunday, because we were at MaMa Gert’s on the in-between Sundays. MaMa Gert, my other grandmother, kept a cleaner house and was a better cook than Grandma Cecelia. But MaMa Gert did not read to us, or tell us stories.

Grandma Cecelia was educated, and loved books, music and art. Until her mind went. Then she would often get up in the middle of the pot roast or steak dinner Audie had cooked, wander out to the front porch and watch the levee, fingering her blue crystal rosary beads. The rosary had been an engagement gift from her first, and according to Audie, only love, Jack Ellis, but few people knew that. Audie and I, despite Awful Old Grandpa’s scowl, would bring our plates to the porch and sit with Grandma. Daddy, unwilling to anger Grandpa, always stayed at the table, and Mama and my sisters with him.

Poor sweet, pretty Grandma. I used to wonder how someone so refined, and from a nice family, a wealthy family, had married a man like Awful Old Grandpa, who was uneducated, course, and just plain mean.

Audie fumbled in the breast pocket of her green-and-black striped jumpsuit for her cigarettes. I used to ask her to please stop smoking, but it did no good, and only annoyed her. I couldn’t get Simon to stop either, and see where that got him. Audie opened the window a crack, touched the dashboard lighter to the cigarette, and inhaled.

I dug a package of cheese-peanut-butter crackers from the side of my organizer purse and handed her one. Mr. Feldman Becnel’s almost-plantation house was ahead on the left, and I wanted to distract her. We should have a snack, Audie. We missed lunch, and it might be a while before we get to eat.

She breathed out smoke and ate a cracker, but still slowed to about 25 mph and looked at the house in disgust, "I don’t know how Millicent had the nerve to stay here after she practically killed Feldman. She should have had the decency to move back up to North Louisiana with her people. No one wanted her here after she put him in an early grave, working so hard to give her everything she wanted. That’s what comes of growing up spoiled. You know she made Feldman build her that big house with columns on the veranda, so it would look like Nottoway plantation across the river."

She shook her head, ate another cracker, and mashed down on the accelerator.

. I reached under the car seat for her jar of cold coffee. Here, drink some coffee to wash down those crackers. She crushed out her cigarette, gulped some coffee and motioned for more crackers. I gave her the rest and got another pack from my purse. Tell me again what Miss Maude said when she called.

She swallowed and shook her head, as if remembering her mission, "Maude said she found Father Martin, I mean Father Henderson, dead in her chicken-killing yard this morning, with his neck broken. And that new sheriff was on his way." With that, she stomped the accelerator, hard.

I prayed silently to my favorite, unofficial saint: Please Father Vernis, don’t let Audie get us in a wreck.

We arrived at Miss Maude’s house, on the outskirts of Sunrise, in record time, with Audie mashing down hard on the Cordoba’s accelerator. I finally stopped asking her to slow down, closed my eyes, and asked Father Vernis to keep us safe. Us, and any slow-moving vehicles in front of us.

Her large front yard was peaceful and colorful. The grass was neatly cut, with pecan and magnolia trees along the side fences. Willows, sweet-olive bushes, and pink crepe myrtle trees grew around the house, a modest, cream-colored, wooden farmhouse, with forest-green trim, and a cozy porch covering half the front. Red, pink, and yellow rose bushes grew in the yard, where a brick footpath, lined with monkey grass, widened into a gravel driveway. To the right of the driveway was a large, raised wooden sign, rooster-shaped and -colored, that read Cluckins and Roux, from the days when she sold fresh chickens she killed herself.

Miss Maude, one of Audie’s best friends, still raises chickens, but a much smaller flock now, for her personal use. Her roux-making business, however, is as profitable as ever. She told me she wants to keep working and be useful. People from as far away as Baton Rouge and Convent still drive to Miss Maude’s to buy her smooth, dark-brown roux, for cooking chicken stew, gumbo, jambalaya, and other Cajun dishes.

How does she keep her yard so neat? I asked, but Audie was speeding up the drive and not listening. I hoped she didn’t hit the front of the house like she did when Mr. Feldman died.

She noticed the Sheriff of Sunrise logo on a gray Jeep Grand Cherokee parked on the side of the house. Aw. Fete-p-tan! What is that new sheriff doing still here? She glanced at her watch, a stainless-steel Omega, given to her by Grandma Cecelia years ago, and grumbled, He’s probably bothering Maude about that body! And where is she? What did he do with her? She doesn’t know anything about Father Martin. When I slow down and jump out, you park the car and come on up.

With the car moving, Audie shook her head and jumped out. I slid over, took the wheel and managed to stop without hitting the house or any rose bushes. The new sheriff, a handsome man with a bit of a belly, had Audie stopped at the foot of the white wooden steps. He probably thought she was drunk. Old Sheriff Causey would have thought nothing of Audie’s grand entrance, and never would have stopped her. What with Audie being the daughter of Miss Cecelia, whose family had owned land and farmed in that area along the River Road, ever since her father, Vincente Morillon, was overseer at The Hermitage Plantation, after the Civil War.

Audie pushed past the sheriff just as Miss Maude walked out onto the porch, carrying a tray with a white coffee urn and coffee cups, cream and sugar. I was almost relieved Audie was so angry; she might not try to fix me up with the sheriff, as she often does with available men she considers suitable. Many questions, about family history, religion, education, and career plans, must be answered correctly for a man to win Audie’s approval. Although there was murder on both sides of her family, Audie doesn’t want me mixed up with undesirables. The murders were several generations ago, so perhaps in her mind they don’t taint the family anymore.

Worrying about Audie having another stroke, I made sure all the windows were tightly closed and started toward the house.

The sheriff watched me with narrowed eyes and a slight smile. He was attractive in a big-man kind of way, in a dark-green polo shirt with a gold star stitched over his heart, tan pants, and heavy black tennis shoes. Tall, like a basketball player, but with a little extra weight, short curly black hair, and a nice smile.

I smiled at him and hoped not to hear Simon, asking me why I was looking at the sheriff. For months after he died, I would sometimes hear Simon’s voice, accusing me of an interest in other men. That was irrational, just my imagination. I don’t hear Simon anymore, and my quirks are much better. Just as after Free died, for months I was afraid to eat, and I washed and washed my hands. Then I was better.

Louise, Audie called to me from the porch, sounding worried. She knows about some of my peculiar habits, like watching the ground so I don’t step in anything nasty. She agrees it’s best to think of them as quirks that will pass in time. Audie squinted at me, and turned to help Miss Maude set the tray down on a white wicker table near the matching love seat. They both sat on the swing, making it move slowly. Audie held her arm and whispered to her.

Not wanting to worry her, I started walking and stopped thinking about Simon’s silence. I heard the gentle clucking of chickens from the chicken pen, behind the old barn out back. So far back that most people wouldn’t notice, but I have sensitive ears, and hear sounds most people miss. The pleasant clucking reminded me of sweet, elderly ladies fretting and fussing. I made my way across the gravel driveway to the footpath, looking down a few times to make sure I didn’t step in anything. They could have brought the body that way, dripping things that leak from the dead. Audie should have waited for me. I don’t worry as much when she’s with me. I looked up and down a few more times, trying to breathe and not panic. Why do I have to worry about things no one else does?

The sheriff was waiting at the steps and held out his hand, I’m Sheriff Daly. He paused, Alan Daly. His voice was slow, and so rich and smooth you could make fudge with it. I suddenly felt less anxious, as if listening to a meditation tape. I wondered for only a few seconds if his hands were clean, then reached out and shook his hand.

Louise Bergen. I see you’ve met my aunt.

His smile was rueful. No, but maybe you can introduce us. We didn’t get off to a great start.

He waited and followed me up the wooden steps. I was glad to be wearing jeans and a tee shirt, and not a short skirt as I sometimes do.

I leaned over the swing and hugged Miss Maude. She pulled me close with one arm. Audie was still holding her other arm and asking how she was, and if she needed some Jim Beam Green in her coffee. It’s Audie’s favorite whiskey, so Miss Maude keeps it for visits.

Miss Maude is strong and sturdy, in her 70s, and tall, taller than Audie (but not as plump), with braided gray hair pinned around her head. She wears ironed cotton print dresses in the summer, with a white belt and white oxford shoes. She usually looks neat, and smells of baby powder, even when she’s working in the kitchen or yard. Her face is tanned from working outdoors, and strong, as if she could be stern. But she has a kind voice and a soft heart. That day she was wearing a lilac-colored dress, printed with tiny yellow roses, but she smelled of burnt food and not baby powder.

She looked up at me and smiled. Louise, my sweet prom queen. How are you, dear? She seemed nervous and chattered, Oh, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t call you that in front of strangers. She turned to Alan and explained, When she was in high school, Louise had her date bring her to Audie’s house before her senior prom, so we could take pictures of them.

A nervous Miss Maude was something I had never seen.

Audie spooned sugar into her coffee from the chicken-shaped sugar bowl. That was Danny, She muttered, her voice rough, The love of Louise’s life. I always did like him. She reached for the cream pitcher next to the white cups on the silver tray.

Please Father Vernis, I prayed silently, don’t let Audie get started about Danny.

Audie, Miss Maude reproved her. I liked Danny as well, but he was just a high school boyfriend.

Audie’s only response was a loud slurp of coffee.

I stirred sugar and cream into a cup of coffee and handed it to Miss Maude, I know you usually drink it black, but Mama says cream makes coffee comforting. You need that.

Thank you, dear. She took the cup and sipped the coffee quietly. Your lovely mama is right, of course. How is she?

She’s fine, but worried about you. I told her why Audie and I were driving out here today. She said to tell you she would pray for you at noon Mass today right after Communion. That’s her time for special prayers.

Then I know everything will be fine. Please thank her for me. Your sweet mama’s prayers are powerful. Miss Maude, joined by Audie, nodded her approval.

Mama is everybody’s sweetheart.

The sheriff, still standing, reached out his hand to Audie, We seem to have got off to a bad start. I’m Alan Daly, the new sheriff.

Audie didn’t even look up from her coffee. Alan looked to us for help.

Audie, don’t be that way, Miss Maude chided gently. Sheriff Daly was kind enough to wait with me until you and Louise got here. He was worried about me. He didn’t know who you were when you came screeching up the driveway. I could hear the Cordoba all the way inside when I was getting the coffee ready.

Fete-p-tan! I was worried about you too! I knew Audie was still angry that an outsider had the temerity to question her right to be anywhere around Sunrise, Louisiana, especially the stretch from Plaquemine Point to Darrow. That was, after all, the area her grandfather, Vincente Morillon, with his farming expertise, had helped to grow and prosper.

Sheriff Daly looked confused. I whispered, "It kind of means son-of-a-bitch, in French." (It’s really Audie’s version of it, so she can sound lady-like when she curses.)

He laughed out loud, I love a good French curse word. Only the French can swear with such finesse.

Slightly mollified, Audie reached up and shook his hand, Name’s Audie. Audie Boudreaux, accenting the first syllable, in case he was ignorant of how it should be pronounced in South Louisiana.

Like Audie Murphy? Alan sat and leaned back in the loveseat, seeming pleased with himself.

Audie shook her head. I was Audie first. I didn’t even know who Audie Murphy was till Maude gave me his book to read, years ago. She nodded, deep in thought. But he was a fine man, a brave soldier, and a talented actor. And I’m proud to share his name. She looked hard at Alan, as if daring him to disagree.

I agree with you. Alan said and nodded. "When I worked in Alexandria, the police chief, Jules Ongeron, gave me a copy of, To Hell and Back. I read it twice and still have it."

Audie looked pleased, forgetting her usual Alexandria frown.

In truth, Audie was christened Audrey Marie, but when she was thirteen decided that name was too frilly. She announced that her name was Audie, and would only answer to that. Even that young she was a formidable force, and so became Audie to everyone, except Awful Old Grandpa. He insisted on calling her Audrey Marie until he died. Yet another reason those two never did get along.

Alan settled himself comfortably in the love seat next to me, careful to leave room between us on the faded, floral cushion. I thought about the CYO dances when I was in high school, and Sister Eurose reminding Danny and me to leave room for the Holy Ghost between us. That made me smile, and I didn’t even look down at his black shoes to see if he had stepped in anything nasty.

Well, Miss Audie— Sheriff Daly began, but she cut him off.

No, it’s just Audie. Not Miss Audie, not Aunt Audie, just Audie.

He nodded. Audie, it is. Well, Audie, His slow drawl was smooth and pleasant. I was going to say since you and Miss Maude are like sisters, that’s what she told me, maybe you can help me some with this investigation. Me being new here, you might have better luck talking to people. Now you can’t do anything dangerous. Just talk to your friends out here and tell me what you find out. You and Louise here can be part of my team. Unofficially, of course. He helped himself to a cup of coffee from the tray and added sugar and cream.

His voice was so rich and relaxing I didn’t feel the need to help the conversation along, or to apologize for not offering to fix his coffee. I wished briefly for my Starry Night coffee mug from home.

Audie watched him like she wasn’t sure what he was up to. I could almost hear her thinking, I don’t know all I want to know about this new sheriff. Audie does not like to be left out, and after I gave her two mystery novels for her birthday last year, K is for Killer, and Dead Man’s Island, she is convinced she missed her calling and should have been a private investigator.

Well, I do know everyone out here, Audie growled. My grandfather, Vincente Morillon, settled here when his family came over from France, in 1886. He was the overseer at the Hermitage Plantation down in Darrow, and he was a consultant to the sugar cane farmers around here. He built his own house, farther south of here. She gestured toward the River Road. Just past Jacob’s Lane, around 1900. It’s a beautiful house, looks like a French farmhouse. Papa Vincente was successful and made a lot of money. Left everything to my mother.

Miss Maude looked worried. She knew if Audie got worked up about Awful Old Grandpa, she would tell Sheriff Daly more than he needed to know about my family. We had both heard this story too many times. She put her hand on Audie’s arm. Audie glanced at her, but was too agitated to stop.

"Everyone out here loved her and called her ‘Miss Cecilia.’ Too bad she married that couyon, worthless father of mine. He sold the family house to an oil company before he died. They use it for offices now. She stopped, shook her head sadly and closed her eyes for a few seconds. But then continued, even louder, And he tried to give all the money to the Church, before he died. Now Sheriff, I’m a devout Catholic and I go to Mass every Sunday, but I don’t think you should give everything away, especially if you have a family to think about."

She looked at Alan, who seemed much too amused, despite his attempt to look serious. I hoped he knew he was still in Audie’s no-man’s-land. She was feeling him out, but waiting for him to slip up again and annoy her. Audie doesn’t forgive easily, or often.

The Bible tells us to give not only to God, but also to our families. He sounded so smug, misquoting the Bible to Audie, but I couldn’t be upset with him. He was such a big, nice-looking man, strong and sturdy. His nose was a bit wide, but I could listen to him read a grocery list in that rich smooth voice of his. Who does he remind me of?

Alan put his cup down, leaned over and took Audie’s free hand in his. He looked serious. I know the house you mean, and it’s a shame what that oil company did to your family place. I agree with you. Your father should not have sold it. When you have a family, you have to take care of them. Alan seemed sad, and I wondered if he spoke from experience.

Audie was silent for a while, and I was afraid she would cry. She hates to cry, and there are