Cake on a Hot Tin Roof by Jacklyn Brady Page B

Nestor under the bus. I knew it was irrational, but I hoped they’d find the killer so quickly I wouldn’t have to rat him out.
    Sullivan shifted his weight and propped both arms on the table. “Why don’t you define ‘not really’ for me?”
    Another chill shook my body and I huddled deeper into the blanket. “He was loud and obnoxious and grabby. A bit too friendly, if you know what I mean.”
    “Are you sayin’ he made a pass at you?”
    “I guess you could call it that. I’m not sure his heart was in it. It seemed almost like a habit. He saw a woman and he made a grab.”
    “And—”
    “And nothing. I handled it. He went away and bothered other people. No big deal.”
    Sullivan studied my expression for a moment before asking his next question. “Did he bother anyone else in particular?”
    I carefully sidestepped the Uncle Nestor factor one more time and stayed focused on the female guests. “Not that I know of. He made the rounds and talked to a lot of people. So you think somebody hit him, and then pushed him into the pool?”
    Sullivan didn’t so much as blink. “Something like that. I’m told you found the body. Is that right?”
    I gave him a thin-lipped nod and linked my hands on the table. “My aunt Yolanda and I found him.”
    “Tell me about that.”
    “We were looking for my uncle. The party was over and we were comparing notes about how we felt it had gone—you know how you do…”
    He nodded, but didn’t say a word. I took that as a cue to keep talking. “Anyway, we realized that neither of us had seen Uncle Nestor for a while, so we decided to look for him.”
    “You went outside to do that? Why not search the clubhouse?”
    If it had just been me, I might’ve left out the detail about the cell phone—actually, I’d neglected to even mention it to the first cops, it seemed so unimportant. But then I thought about how Aunt Yolanda was a stickler for the truth and realized that she’d probably spilled her guts to the cop interrogating her. After all, she believed that the truth would set her free. And if my story didn’t match, we could end up in big trouble.
    “We were going to,” I explained. “But Aunt Yolanda called his cell phone and heard it ringing outside. She went out onto the balcony and that’s when she spotted Big Daddy in the pool.”
    Sullivan’s eyebrow arched high over one slate-colored eye. “I didn’t see any of that in the notes Officer Crump gave me.”
    “That’s because I forgot to tell him. I didn’t even think about it. And don’t give me that look. Nestor’s my uncle. He didn’t have anything to do with Big Daddy’s death.”
    “Do you have any idea who might have wanted Big Daddy dead?”
    “Besides every woman he ever met? Not really.”
    “I assume you have a guest list,” he said, refusing to even crack a smile. “I’ll need a copy.”
    “Miss Frankie has all of that information. Most of the guests were members of the Krewe of Musterion. This was some sort of a bash for the bigwigs. Apparently, Big Daddy was just elected as captain for the coming year.” Thinking about all of that made me sit up a little straighter. “You know who you should talk to? This guy named Percy something. Ponter, I think they said. He’s one of the officers for next year and he was upset with Big Daddy earlier in the evening.”
    Sullivan made a note. “Any idea why?”
    I shook my head. “Big Daddy told him to make an appointment for next week, that’s all I know. Big Daddy’s assistant might know, though. She was there. Her name is Violet.” I dug around in my memory and came up with the rest. “Shepherd.”
    Sullivan wrote that down, too. “Anything else?”
    I ignored my nagging conscience and shook my head again. “No, that’s it.” I’d tell Sullivan about the fight once we found Uncle Nestor and I heard his side of the story. Surely he’d be more forthcoming now.
    “When you went outside after the party, did you notice anything out