Hallowed Bones (2 page)

"He's a nice man," she said, picking up speed again. "He's developed a friendship with Cece. I know he was smitten by you, Sarah Booth."

Had Bridge come into my life at any other time, I might have fallen for him. "I made a mess of everything."

Tinkie pulled into a parking space at the courthouse square. "Not everything. You solved the case, freed Scott Hampton, salvaged Ivory's dream, and made Ida Mae a happy woman. That's not bad."

"With your help, Tinkie. But thanks, you always say the right thing." I reached over to touch her hand but she was already a blur of motion exiting her car.

"I'm going to the ladies' room," she said, dashing up the courthouse steps. It was only when she'd disappeared inside that I realized why she was in such a hurry. Coleman Peters was getting out of the car beside me. His gaze was locked on mine.

I slowly got out of the Caddy and stood with one hand on the door. He walked over, and for a moment I thought he was going to pull me into his arms. But he didn't. We stood staring at each other, and I realized that we didn't need to say much. I read everything on his face: futility, exhaustion, lost hope, a grim determination to do the right thing.

"How's Connie?" I finally asked, but there was no anger in it, no desire to wound.

"She's not well. I never thought pregnancy could kill a woman, but it looks like she may be the first. She can't sleep, can't eat. She's lost weight instead of gaining. She won't consider termination. "

Coleman looked like hell. His blue eyes were still sharp, but they'd sunk into their sockets. Dark circles showed he wasn't sleeping either. "What does the doctor say?"

His laugh was bitter. "She refuses to see a doctor. She acts like this is some sort of punishment. For her and for me. She's going to endure it no matter what, with me suffering right by her side." He took a breath. "I'm afraid for her."

"I'd get her to a doctor."

"That's easier said than done."

Coleman could manhandle her, there was no doubt of that. But the resulting damage might be worse than waiting her out. He was stuck between a rock and a hard place.

"I wish things were different."

He didn't answer for a moment and I could see all the ways things might have been different flash in his eyes. "Yeah, me, too. Sarah Booth, I never should have touched you. I was out of line. I don't have anything to offer you and what I did by even letting you know my feelings for you was wrong."

He was telling me that he'd fulfill his duty to Connie. He wasn't even going to pretend that he wanted to "make his marriage work." But he would stay with his wife, and if he couldn't offer me a legitimate relationship, he wasn't going to offer me anything at all.

I both admired him and hated him. And I imitated him. "I knew the situation when I..." I faltered. "You never deceived me about who you are."

"Maybe I deceived us both."

We stood there, so many things unsaid. At last he asked what I was doing at the courthouse.

"Doreen Mallory," I answered.

His eyebrows arched. "How do you know her?"

"I don't. We got a call from a nun." I realized how strange that sounded. "Why would a nun in
New Orleans
call a detective to help this woman?"

Coleman considered a moment before answering. "I've talked with Ms. Mallory, and she was raised by nuns in
New Orleans
. She was an orphan. I've spoken with Sister Mary Magdalen myself, and I can tell you she sets quite a store by Doreen Mallory. She claims she's a miracle worker."

I watched Coleman's eyes carefully as he spoke. He was a man who'd learned to be extremely cynical from his work, but there wasn't a hint of mockery in his tone.

"A miracle worker?" I paused but he gave me nothing. "Like raising the dead and turning water into wine?" He still said nothing. "Or more like curing warts and reading tea leaves?"

"Talk to her yourself," he said, beginning to walk to the courthouse.

Coleman frequently left me to make my own conclusions, but he was never without an interest in which path I went down. "What aren't you telling me?"

"Let me tell you what I know about this woman," he said. "We found her in
Pine
Level
Cemetery
talking to her mother's grave. She's being held on a warrant from
New Orleans
that charges her with killing her own infant, a ten-week-old female child."

Doreen Mallory sounded more like a person with mental problems than a miracle worker. "How did the baby die?"

"Some type of sleeping pill, probably in her formula and fed to her. I don't have all the details."

We entered the courthouse, our footsteps echoing. "Is it possible she's just nuts? I mean, what motive would she have for killing her own baby?"

"The baby was ill. We're talking major birth defects."

"You're saying you think she killed her baby because she didn't want to take care of it?" It had happened before. It had happened with women who didn't want to take care of a healthy baby.

"That, on top of the fact that it looks mighty bad for a woman who claims to work miracles not to be able to help her own child." Coleman opened the door to the sheriff's office.

When we walked inside, I stopped dead in my tracks. Coleman should have warned me. Connie's best friend, Rinda Stonecypher, was sitting at the dispatcher's desk. Her brown eyes blazed with intense dislike as they focused on me. For a moment I felt a real pang of sympathy for Coleman. He was far more imprisoned than anyone in his jail. Connie was extracting a terribly high payment for his infraction with me.

"Rinda, you remember Sarah Booth," Coleman stated, setting the tone.

"Yes, I remember her," Rinda said. "Mrs. Richmond is in your office, waiting."

Coleman put his hand on my arm and led me into his private office, closing the door behind us. It was something he never used to do. Tinkie was seated in front of his desk. She scanned us with the intensity of a laser beam, looking for any signs of damage. Satisfied, she leaned back in her chair.

"So, it's your theory that Doreen Mallory killed her baby because it might interfere with her ambitions?" I asked him, taking the other chair that faced his desk.

"Not my theory. That comes from the NOPD. They're extraditing her for trial."

"Have you talked to her, Coleman?"

He hesitated. "Yes. I picked her up in the cemetery."

"And?" I saw something flicker in his eyes.

"She was cooperative. She denied hurting her child. In fact, she was shocked that she was being charged. The baby's death was originally ruled natural causes. There were a lot of physical complications, and the supposition was that she simply stopped breathing. Sudden Infant Death Syndrome seemed the most plausible explanation. Then the blood work came back and chemicals were found."

"I know you're impartial, Coleman, so what did you think about her?" Tinkie pressed. "This isn't your case. You can afford some thoughts."

I cast a sidelong glance at my partner. She was getting better and better. Finding out what Coleman thought would be a big asset in the long run. Normally, he was a "just the facts, ma'am" kind of guy, but as Tinkie so astutely pointed out, Coleman had no dog in this fight. He could afford an opinion.

"When I got the request from
New Orleans
to pick her up, I didn't think much about it at all. When I found out she was in the cemetery, I was curious. When I saw her, I was... stunned. And after I talked with her--" This time his pause was extended. "I'm not certain what I think, but I'm sure the two of you will form your own opinions."

"Now tell me again, exactly, what she was doing in
Pine
Level
Cemetery
. Talking to a grave?" I asked. Pine Level was one of the few cemeteries integrated since its inception. For many decades, the front of the cemetery was filled with the dead bodies of white folks. The back of the cemetery contained some of the oldest graves in the county. Slaves were buried there, many of the graves marked only with simple wooden posts.

"She was visiting her mother," Tinkie said. The excitement in her tone made me give her my full attention. "Her mother was Lillith Lucas. Rinda ungraciously gave me a few details."

I couldn't quite grasp the information. "Crazy Lillith?" I asked, a vivid picture of the flamboyant street-corner preacher coming to my mind. "Lillith never had children. She wasn't married. She had every one of us kids terrified of sex."

Coleman's soft chuckle accompanied the memory of a woman with long, stringy hair, raising a Bible over her head as she chased us along the streets of Zinnia, telling us that if we participated in the Devil's pleasure, our organs would wither and fall off.

"She didn't practice what she preached," Tinkie said, giving Coleman a wink.

"Are you sure about this?" I still couldn't believe it.

"Doreen says Lillith was her mother. She was given away in infancy or early childhood. Left at a convent in
New Orleans
, actually. Why would anyone claim Lillith for a mother if it wasn't true?" Coleman asked.

"A very good question," Tinkie said.

"And one we need to ask our client," I pointed out. "Can we see her?"

"Sure," Coleman said. "But she's headed to
New Orleans
."

"When?"

"As soon as they send someone to retrieve her."

We all stood up and walked into the main office. "Rinda, could I have the jail key?"

"Dewayne forgot to leave it," she said, not looking at any of us.

"I left my keys in my coat pocket," Coleman said, patting his hips. "I'll be right back."

As soon as the door closed, Rinda was out of her chair and churning toward me. She, too, had been a cheerleader, but she'd put on sixty pounds and lost her bounce.

"How dare you come in here?" she hissed at me. "You're determined to break up their marriage, aren't you?"

"Does Coleman know you're off your medication?" Tinkie asked sweetly.

"I'd watch my step, Mrs. Richmond," Rinda said. "She'll be after your husband next."

"I have no concerns about my husband's loyalties," Tinkie said, and her normally merry eyes were a chilly blue. "And you should be worried about your job, not other people's personal business. If Coleman had an inkling of this incident, you'd be fired."

"I doubt that," Rinda said with a smile. "Connie got me this job."

"Coleman will take only so much," Tinkie warned her.

She ignored Tinkie and pointed one red-tipped fingernail at me. Her figure had gone to hell, but her manicure was impeccable.

"I've got my eye on you. I know what kind of woman you are, and I can make you one promise: Keep chasing Coleman and everyone else in the Delta will know you for the slut you are."

"Has the elastic waistband of your pants shut off the oxygen supply to your brain?" Tinkie asked.

"You're a fine example that money can't buy brains," Rinda spat back at Tinkie.

I started to interject something, but Tinkie held up a hand to stop me. "Rinda, the only thing you ever had going for you was cute. I'd quit worrying about everyone else and start hunting for some of what you lost. If I hear one word of gossip about Sarah Booth, I promise you I'll be back to take it up with you. It won't be pretty."

Rinda was back at her desk before the door opened and Coleman reappeared. He assessed the room, probably catching just a whiff of verbally singed hair. "Everything okay?"

"Let's talk to Doreen," Tinkie said, her blue eyes clear and untroubled. "I can't wait to meet her."

3

It was a Rita Coolidge album cover that came to mind when
I first saw Doreen Mallory. The long hair, the slender body, the stance. "Bird on a Wire" played in my head. Doreen Mallory lacked the Indian heritage of the singer; the freckles lightly scattered across Doreen's nose spoke of another gene pool. But her black gypsy hair hung to her waist, and her hazel-green eyes never flinched. She wore boots, jeans, and a loose white shirt that only heightened her willowy elegance. There wasn't a single chromosome of Lillith Lucas in Doreen's features that I could see.

Tinkie made the introductions, and I studied the haunted smile that touched Doreen's lips. "I told Sister Mary Magdalen not to waste her money on a private detective," she said in a voice both cool and soothing.

"Why would she be wasting her money?" I asked, wondering if Doreen was admitting to murdering her child. She certainly wasn't your typical grieving mother.

"Because I didn't do anything wrong," Doreen said. "I'm sure the police will sort it all out. I'm innocent. This is just a mistake." Her lips pressed together. "No one would hurt Rebekah. She was just a little baby."