Authors: Carolyn Haines
Tags: #Fiction, #General, #Mystery & Detective, #Women Sleuths, #Mystery, #Single Women, #Children, #Crimes against, #Mississippi, #Women private investigators, #Women Healers, #Delaney; Sarah Booth (Fictitious Character), #Women Plantation Owners, #Delaney; Sarah Booth (Fictitious Charater)
"Would anyone have a key?" Tinkie pressed.
"I don't think so." Michael looked at Alec.
"Pearline had a key," Alec offered. "Even though you can't get in the apartment, you can look around the courtyard. I never went upstairs, but we sometimes sat on the patio and talked. Doreen was buying the entire building. It might be interesting to talk to the tenants. Maybe they saw something."
"We'll do that," Tinkie said, smiling. "I just want to get a feel of the layout. It could prove important in the case."
"Is there a convenient time when I can speak with you alone?" I asked Michael.
His intense eyes connected with mine. "I'm at your disposal, Ms. Delaney. Whatever I can do to help Doreen."
"This evening? Say, seven o'clock?"
"Why don't we meet at the Center on St. Peter? I can give you a tour. I'll also bring along some of the financial records that Ms. Richmond has asked to see."
"That would be perfect," I agreed.
Tinkie and I took our leave, walking along
She didn't have to say about what. "He's a handsome man," I agreed. "One of the handsomest men I've ever seen."
"And?" she pressed.
I tried to organize my feelings about Michael Anderson. He lacked the charisma of Oren Weaver and the power of Thaddeus Clay, but there was something there. An intensity that was compelling.
"I get the feeling that he's been badly hurt in the past." I stumbled over my words, trying to find the right ones. "Wounded," I said finally. "Somewhere along the way, Michael has lost a lot. I recognized that in him."
Tinkie lightly grasped my shoulder and turned me to face her. She was caught in a shaft of October light that seemed ancient, a hue haloed and muted by time. I was struck by the soft perfection of her skin and the real concern in her blue eyes.
"Are you okay, Sarah Booth?"
I thought about it. "Yes," I said.
"You haven't been yourself lately."
"I know." Lying to Tinkie was never smart, so I didn't try.
"Is it Coleman?"
"Partly," I admitted. "But it's other stuff, too. I think about the past a lot."
"I do, too," Tinkie said, rubbing my arm. We stepped closer to the storefront, to allow a cluster of tourists sporting cameras, hats, and varicose veins to pass by us. I was suddenly aware of the bustle of the street, the constant motion of the loud tourists holding Styrofoam cups filled with frozen liquor concoctions.
"I think about the future, too," she said. "This is a hard case for me. I want a child so much, and Oscar doesn't. He keeps saying he's not ready."
"Why does Oscar get to make this decision all by himself?" I asked.
"He doesn't. But he is an equal partner. If he says no, then it's no. I guess in this case the declining partner has a little more than fifty percent of the vote."
"Why?" I demanded, remembering my prior conversation with Jitty and her point that women had served for centuries at the bidding of men. "You could have a baby."
"I could, but how right would that be? I mean, put the shoe on the other foot. What if Oscar wanted a baby and I didn't? Would it be fair for him to trick me into getting pregnant or demand that I carry his child?"
Tinkie was not only becoming an excellent investigator, she was becoming an adult.
"Maybe he'll change his mind," I said, trying to find the best outcome.
"And maybe by the time he does, it'll be too late."
Her words sent a chill down my spine. It was as if Jitty had possessed Tinkie's body. "You have another ten years. At least."
She shook her head. "I'm not even talking biologically. The instinct to nurture and mother fades. It's the way God made us, so that we let go of our children and they can be independent and find their own lives. In another five years, I might not want to focus all my attention on a baby."
Tinkie had a valid point, and one that haunted me even when Jitty was far away at Dahlia House. "The future is out of our hands. Right now, all we can do is concentrate on our job. Let's check out Doreen's pad," I said, opting for the hip lingo of my mother's generation. It seemed to put a devil-may-care spin on things, even if it was only a superficial one.
Doreen's address wasn't hard to find. It was only a few blocks from Decatur and the French Market, in an area of big, historic houses that had been divided into street-front businesses and interior apartments. The stout, arched door was opened by a diminutive woman in a dance leotard.
"We're working for Doreen Mallory," I told the woman as Tinkie handed her one of our newly printed business cards.
She scanned it. "My name is Martha LaFoche. I've already spoken with Sister Mary Magdalen and she said to expect you. Come in," she said, opening the door wide. "The tenants have been talking together and we want to help."
"Did you see someone the night Rebekah was killed?" Tinkie asked eagerly.
"I didn't see anything. I was onstage. But some of the others may have ideas. I'll show you where everyone lives."
We followed her down a brick carriageway that gave a beautiful, arched view of a courtyard bursting with vegetation and a tinkling fountain. Stepping into the courtyard was like entering another world.
"That back apartment is Trina Zebrowski's," Martha said, pointing it out. "That one is rented by Starla Marston, and then Doreen is above that. To the right is my apartment, which is a two-story and the largest apartment other than Doreen's."
"Where is Starla?" Tinkie asked. She was hot on the trail of this interview.
"She's working. On the Square. She reads tarot cards."
"We'll find her on our way out," I said more to Tinkie than Martha. I walked to the center of the courtyard and turned around, taking in the physical reality of the place. LeMont had done a damn good job of drawing it, but he'd failed to capture the otherworldliness. "How old is this building?"
"It dates back to the late 1700s," Martha said. "Doreen knows all the details, but it's on the historic registry. It was once a home, and the back apartment was above the stables. The groom lived over the horses."
"It must be quite valuable property."
"Yes, it is. Even though the Quarter is gradually sinking, the real estate is prime." She gave a laugh that perfectly suited her tiny frame.
"Is it possible to climb to Doreen's windows from the street?" I asked, remembering the balcony that had overhung the arched doorway on Dumaine where we'd entered.
"A slender man or a woman, or of course a child, might be able to climb it. But the balcony is old. If you look closely you can see that the attachment to the old building is weak." She shrugged. "Do you think someone climbed in the window and killed Rebekah?"
"I don't think Doreen did it," Tinkie said stoutly.
"Neither do I," Martha said. "I saw her with the baby every morning. She'd come in the courtyard while Pearline went to Madeline's or the Cafe Du Monde for coffee and breakfast. Doreen would hold that infant in her lap and sing to her." She blinked, and I couldn't be certain if it was tears or not. "She acted like Rebekah was normal. She talked about her like she'd grow up. She asked me if I'd give her dance lessons."
"What about the maid, Pearline?" Tinkie asked.
Martha cocked her head. "She was totally devoted to that baby. Ever since Rebekah died, Pearline's been in a deep depression. Several times when she didn't show up for work, Doreen went to check on her. In some ways, it appeared that Pearline took Rebekah's death harder than Doreen."
I knew what she was talking about. Doreen's serenity sometimes made her seem to have less emotion.
"When was the last time you saw Pearline?" I asked.
"Oh, that would have been last week. She came to clean the apartment." Martha glanced down at the ground, then back up at me. "She was packing up the baby's things, to take them to Goodwill. She was very upset."
"Is there any access into Doreen's apartment other than the interior stairwell?" Tinkie asked. "I mean, it used to be one house. Is there an adjoining door from your apartment?"
"The doors have all been sealed and plastered over," Martha said. "Unless the killer climbed the balcony, he had to enter through the stairwell."
"What about Trina?" I asked. "Do you know her well?"
"She's the newest tenant. She's also a mounted policewoman and she manages all the repairs and maintenance of the whole place for Doreen."
"Where was she the night Rebekah died?" Tinkie asked.
"She was with her boyfriend."
"Do you know his name?" I was pulling my pad from the pocket of my jeans. Nothing like adding more leads.
Martha gave us a curious look. "It's Michael. Doreen's financial manager. Trina's seeing him." The sentiment "lucky dog" was implied.
I looked at Tinkie. "Have they been seeing each other long?" Tinkie asked.
"About three months. I mean, they knew each other long before that and were friendly. I always had the impression that Michael was in love with someone else. He just never seemed to notice when any of the young women made a pass at him, and believe me, that's a lot of not noticing. I just began to think that his heart already belonged to someone. And then all of a sudden, Trina came home from work one day, changed into a dress, and said Michael had asked her to dinner."
"Are Doreen and Trina... close?" I asked.
"Very. Trina almost died before she met Doreen. She was ill. Trina doesn't talk about it a lot, but I think it had something to do with a tumor on her spine. Dismal prognosis."
"And now?" I asked.
Martha's laugh reminded me of Glinda the Good Witch when she was about to wave her magic wand. "She's perfectly fine. In fact, I've never met a healthier young woman. She passed the physical for the police academy and then followed her childhood dream and learned to ride a horse. She was given some kind of medal last year for her horsemanship in crowd control."
"What district does she work at?"
"The Eighth," Martha said.
Tinkie and I shared a glance. It was the same one where Detective LeMont was located. "Thanks, Martha. We'll be in touch," I said as we walked under the arched doorway and into the street.
11
AS TlNKIE AND I RETRACED OUR STEPS TO THE SQUARE, MY FRIEND was unusually quiet.
"Do you believe Doreen healed Trina's tumor?" she asked.
"I don't know," I said, because I really didn't believe it, but I didn't want to sound so cynical.
"I believe she did."
For that split second, Tinkie's belief was strong enough to touch me. I felt a waver of belief, but it flickered and disappeared. "Maybe," I said.
She glanced at me as we walked. "You don't believe, Sarah Booth. You're like Oscar."
I didn't take her comment as an insult. I knew how much she loved her husband. Still, I'd never in a million years thought I'd be compared in even the smallest way to a successful banker.
"Oscar believes in medicine. He believes in X rays and ultra-sound and chemotherapy. He believes in surgery. If it looks suspicious or doesn't work perfectly, just cut it right out."
I noticed as we were walking that Tinkie's hand had strayed up. At first I thought she was fumbling with the button on her blouse, but then I realized what she was really doing. Her hand had moved up protectively over her breast.
"Tinkie?" She wouldn't look at me. I snatched at the hem of her shirt but she pulled free and kept walking.
"After the beauty salon, I went for a mammogram."
"Tinkie?"
"There's a lump," she said, still walking, her face turned to the windows we passed. "They're going to biopsy it when we get back from
I wasn't able to share Tinkie's faith, but I felt her fear. "I'm sure it's nothing," I said, desperation cracking my voice. I got control of it. "Fibroid. Fatty tumor. It's just another way your body devised to get that good-looking surgeon to pay you some attention." I couldn't tell her that she couldn't be sick. Not really sick. Because I couldn't take another loss. So I lifted my chin. "You're a very clever woman."
Her smile was wan. "You knew I was pretending, some of those times when I had medical conditions."
It was a statement, not a question. I only smiled at her, successfully hiding my fear. "The doctor was cute. It didn't harm anyone."
"Now that I may be ill, I see how foolish I was. To pretend to be sick just for a chance to flirt is pretty dumb."
"No it isn't. It's creative. It was an opportunity to flirt without betraying Oscar." I put my arm around her shoulders and for a split second she stiffened. I knew then how afraid she really was. I held on until she relaxed.
"It's going to be fine, Tinkie. It's good to get it biopsied and seen to, but it isn't cancer."