Page 97 of A Rose of Steel
“Did I say lately?” Mrs. Colter said. “I meant ever.” She fanned her face and blew out a breath. “Never.”
“Same goes for me,” Delphine Griffith said. “I just came to say hi to Boone.” She looked at him and smiled sweetly. “He’s that family I told you about.” She directed her last statement to me.
“I know,” I said and nodded.
“Okay,” Pogue said. “Let’s do this.” He turned to me. “Romaine,” he said and snorted. “You do it. Tell them.”
I could tell he was upset with me, not mad, but I wasn’t going to try to placate him in front of everybody in the room. Plus, I was happy to tell what I’d discovered.
“Tell us what?” Mrs. Alvarez said. I didn’t think she thought very highly of me after I sat with her at the funeral.
“Who Bumper’s murderer is,” Auntie said. “She’s figured it out.”
All eyes turned to me.
“Have you?” Mrs. Hackett asked. “You know who killed my son?”
“I do,” I said.
“And who was it?” Mrs. Hackett said. “Are they in this room?”
I nodded. “Yes. He is in this room. Waiting to go out and speak about your son like nothing happened. Aren’t you, Boone?”
“Boone!” His name came from several places around the room. “No!” I heard someone else say among the gasps.
“When did you come up with that craziness?” Boone asked. “I didn’t do anything.”
“Oh, but you did,” I said. “I just figured it out today. When I saw your truck.” I looked at Auntie. “What division one school recruited Boone Alouette, Auntie Zanne? Do you know?”
“Oh, I sure do,” she said. “Lots of them wanted him, but he chose Louisiana State University. Didn’t you, Boone?”
“So?” he said.
“So that was one of the things that helped me figure it was you,” I said. “No, it wasn’t the smoking gun, but it wasn’t until I saw it today that I could put all the pieces together.”
“Today?” he said narrowing his eyes.
“Yes,” I said, a smirk spreading across my face. “But that’s not what you thought, is it? You thought I was on to you a lot earlier than just today, didn’t you?” I said.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, his attitude nonchalant, his words flat.
“Oh, I think you do,” I said. “Yours was the truck that tried to run me over the other night out by the morgue.”
“No it wasn’t,” he said.
“The purple and gold fleur-de-lis decal on the bumper.” I let my words linger before I continued. “Louisiana State University lettering in your back window.”
“If I was behind the wheel and wanted you dead, you would be,” he said.
“Just like you wanted Bumper dead?” Auntie said.
“What reason would I want that?” Boone asked and shrugged. “He was my best friend.”
“Your best friend who didn’t want you as a best man,” she countered.
“I told you, just like I told everyone,” Boone answered, agitation bubbling up, “I wasn’t sure I could get here.”
“He didn’t want you as his best man because he knew what you’d been up to,” I said.
