“She is.”
“Make sure she takes a good look at Birda, see if she remembers her strangling Cora with her huge man hands.”
A laugh escaped me. Folks turned to glare at me so I pounded my chest and cleared my throat, trying to pretend that I’d suffered from a choking fit.
I don’t think it worked.
“So, girlie”—Francine leaned against an empty strip of wall—“what’s the plan?”
I dropped my voice and spoke to Alice, but was really meaning the message for Francine. “First see if there’s anyone you recognize from that night. If you remember seeing anyone with Cora, come tell us.”
“I didn’t see anyone,” Alice said. “Only the same people you did.”
“I’m talking to Francine,” I said through clenched teeth.
“Oh. Sorry.”
“Got it?” My gaze darted to the spirit.
“Got it, toots. I’ll scope out the joint. Let you know what the scene is like.”
As Francine floated away, part of me wondered if she truly understood what I was saying.
Oh well, no time to worry. The line shuffled forward. Alice pulled out the video camera, and I knew she was waiting for her chance to show Devlin her evidence of the banshee.
After about thirty minutes we finally reached Cora’s casket and her relatives. On the right side was situated a man in a wheelchair. Behind him stood Devlin.
“Ross,” Ruth said tightly, “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
Ross Yates nodded to Ruth. “Thank you, Ruthie. I appreciate you saying that.”
Alice shot Devlin the fish eye to end all fish eyes. “You wrote a nasty article about us.”
“Alice,” I hissed, “is this really the time?”
“Yes, it is.”
Devlin shook his head. “Birda won that wager fair and square.”
Alice shoved the camera under his nose. “I have proof of the banshee.” She tapped the screen. “Right here.”
Devlin’s eyes widened. “Let me see that.”
Alice pushed buttons on the camera. While they were busy, I turned to Ross.
“Mr. Yates, my name is Blissful Breneaux.”
“How do you do, Blissful?”
“Just fine, thank you. I’m so sorry for your loss, but I was wondering if you knew anyone who would’ve wanted to harm Cora?”
He stared at me with wet, weepy eyes. “Of course not.”
Shame made my cheeks burn hot. I hated asking these sorts of questions at a funeral, but it needed to be done.
Ruth drifted off to the other side of the casket, out of earshot.
“I’m asking because someone tried to frame Ruth for Cora’s death. I know you used to care for Ruth. If you still do, anything you can tell me will be of help.”
