Hallowed Bones (22 page)

I started to say the Monteleone, but
Hamilton
gave another address. It sounded closer, which was fine with me. We both managed the cab ride by staring straight ahead of us. I had no idea where we were when the cab stopped and we got out.

In a dream, I allowed
Hamilton
to escort me inside. I vaguely noticed the brass doorplates, the echo of our footsteps on the marble floor.
Hamilton
keyed the elevator, and we stepped inside, the heavy brass doors swishing shut.

I turned to him, and we looked into each other's eyes. There were questions I wanted to ask him, things I needed to tell him. But the overpowering desire to feel his arms around me was too strong to be stopped by mere words.

We stepped toward each other and I lifted my lips for his kiss. After that, it was only fire and electricity. I was half undressed by the time the elevator stopped on the fifth floor. I noticed nothing of the room that we stepped into, saw none of the elegantly
appointed furnishings.

We finished undressing as we slowly made our way, pausing for long, deep kisses, to the bedroom. I did notice the huge brass bed covered with a tapestry spread. And then I was on the bed, and
Hamilton
was over me, kissing me, teasing me with his fingertips and tongue, transporting me away from everything except the power and the magic of his touch.

It wasn't until
that afternoon that I came to realize we weren't in a hotel but in a private residence. It was a magnificent place, all dark mahogany, earth-toned colors, and polished brass. A loan from one of
Hamilton
's business associates, he said.

Around three,
Hamilton
called someone to deliver food. We were sated on sex but ravenous for food. We ate gumbo in Styrofoam containers and drank a light, crisp white wine that
Hamilton
pulled from the refrigerator and uncorked.

When he looked at me, I found nothing to say. I was back in eighth grade, terminally shy.

"Sarah Booth," he said, pulling the sheet up to keep the chill off my chest, "I've missed you. Not a day has gone by that I haven't thought of you."

I wanted to ask him if he'd been with other women, but I didn't want to answer the question in the reverse.

He fed me and talked about his life in
Paris
. As I listened, I couldn't stop the rush of my heartbeat whenever he sounded as if he might want to come home to
Mississippi
. And when he spoke as if he'd stay in
Paris
, I wondered if I could ever leave Dahlia House and all that I loved. I didn't know the answer to that.

Hamilton
had been set aside in my mind. Never forgotten. Just moved to that place where other unreachable dreams were kept.

"You look far away," he whispered, a hint of sadness in his own face.

"No, I was just thinking about my life and how it twists and turns." I smiled to hide the shadow of my thoughts.

"Did you know that in
France
, they've invented a totally new way of making love?" His eyes were wicked, and his smile held the promise of fun.

"Right," I said, trying hard not to wonder who he'd learned his French tricks from.

"It's true. Would you like to try it?"

I wasn't certain I'd be able to walk. I couldn't believe he was recharged. "Are you sure?" I asked.

"Close your eyes," he said. "That's it, just lay perfectly still and keep your eyes closed."

I felt the sheet being slowly pulled down my body. Goose bumps, partly from the temperature of the room but mostly from anticipation, danced over my body. I felt something strange drop into my navel. Then another on my stomach, my torso, my chest. I started to peek, but
Hamilton
put a hand on my eyes.

"You can't cheat," he said, and he was about to laugh.

"What are you doing?"

"Do you like dark chocolate?" he asked.

"You know I do."

"And espresso?"

"Coffee in any form is a good thing."

"Then you'll appreciate how badly I want this. It's a chocolate-covered coffee bean. They're all over your body, and I intend to eat every one of them." His lips hovered teasingly over my navel, his tongue seeking what had been dropped there. I squealed with delight.

"The game begins," he said, grasping my wrists as he bent his head to find another treat.

An hour later,
we were showered, dressed, and walking in the Square. I hadn't pointed Doreen out, but
Hamilton
had noticed her. In fact, he was almost drawn to her. When we were catty-cornered from her, I touched his hand.

"That's Doreen," I said.

"My God, she's beautiful." His gaze never left her.

"Yes, she is." I started toward her and
Hamilton
followed. She was reading cards for a young woman and I didn't want to interrupt, but she caught sight of me, her gaze traveling to
Hamilton
and then back to me. She smiled.

I motioned that we'd hang around until she finished, and she resumed her reading. The young woman didn't look happy. In a few minutes she picked up her purse and left in a huff.

"Anything wrong?" I asked, watching the girl's back disappear in the crowd.

"People ask for the truth, and when they get it, they don't like it. That young woman needs to focus on her children, not her social life." She shrugged. "She has two children and not a single question was about them."

Doreen was beautiful, but she was also tired. I could see it under her eyes and in the paleness of her lips.

"Let me read for you," she said to
Hamilton
, after I'd introduced them.

I started to speak against it, but
Hamilton
wouldn't have heeded me. He was delighted. He took the seat in front of her and shuffled the tarot deck, his large hands easily handling the oversized cards.

"Do you have a question?" Doreen asked.

Hamilton
considered. "Will I be alone much longer?"

"Cut the deck," Doreen told him.

Hamilton
did that, and Doreen began to lay out the pattern.

"The pattern is the Celtic cross," she said, putting down more cards.

I studied the images. There was no Death or Hangman or Tower or Devil. It didn't look too bad.

Doreen studied the pattern, and then she looked at
Hamilton
. The saddest smile touched her face.
"The first card"--she touched a Knight of Wands--"is you,
Hamilton
. You're an adventurer, a man of action and will. Therein lies your strength and your weakness."

Strengths I could deal with. Weaknesses were dangerous. To the people to whom they belonged, and others.

She studied the cards more, her hands hovering over them one by one. "You yearn for permanence." She smiled. "For the land and the vista of childhood, but adventure beckons you to other places. I see a house... no, an apartment, but it's rocking gently. It's a boat!"

"I live on a boat,"
Hamilton
said. He was fascinated. "How did you know?"

"The present is easy," Doreen said.

Easy enough for Tinkie to have mentioned it, since it was obvious she was in on the big surprise of
Hamilton
's visit.

Doreen's eyes clouded, but she was looking at
Hamilton
, not the cards. "There's trouble in your fourth chakra. Or there will be." Her face was solemn. "News will come from a distance. Exciting news. You'll celebrate and then there will be sorrow."

My face must have reflected my reaction to her words. She reached out and touched my hand. "All of life is a balance, Sarah Booth. Celebration and grief, love and loss. It's the cycle of life."

"My experience has been more grief than celebration," I said.

She laughed. "I don't believe that. I look at you and I see joy."

"Thank you,"
Hamilton
said, reaching into his pocket for his billfold.

"No charge," Doreen said. She gathered up her cards.

"One last question," I said. "Will
Hamilton
find true love?" I was unable to meet the amused glance he cast at me.

"Yes," Doreen said. "He will."

19

AS MUCH AS I WANTED TO BE WITH
HAMILTON
, I NEEDED TO TALK with Doreen. Tinkie was heavy on my mind, but I didn't want to discuss her personal business in front of
Hamilton
. When I told him I needed to work, he assured me that he had phone calls to return. He would wait for me at his place. I was invited to his private spend-the-night party.

Doreen and I walked through the falling dusk to the Center. Though we sauntered side by side, Doreen was far away. Several people smiled and spoke to her, but she didn't notice them.

When we got to the Center, I put a hand on her shoulder. I wasn't certain if we would have any privacy inside.

"I spoke with the sheriff of
Sunflower
County
today. Doreen, this is hard." I took a breath. "Your mother was involved with a county police officer for several years. His name is Coot Henderson. I don't know how far into the past you want to go, but Coot thinks your mother may have been murdered."

Doreen seemed to look beyond me. I thought at first she hadn't understood what I'd said.

"Was my mother so hated that someone would kill her?" she finally asked.

"I wouldn't have thought so." I'd also asked myself who might have killed Lillith. And more to the point--why?

"Will you talk to this man for me?" she asked.

"Of course. Coleman's made an appointment. In fact, Tinkie's going to go to Zinnia tomorrow--"

"No, I'd like you to do it."

"Tinkie is perfectly capable of--"

"I don't doubt her skill. Tinkie doesn't need to be in Zinnia right now. She's focusing on something very important."

"The cancer," I said, wanting Doreen to know that Tinkie had trusted me with the knowledge of her illness. "And her
doctor
is in Zinnia."

"She needs to be here."

"She's supposed to have a biopsy, and I certainly hope you aren't discouraging her from that."

"The biopsy is November fifth," Doreen said, unruffled by my tone. "Until that time, Tinkie needs to be here."

"With her husband," I said forcefully.

"I'm eager to meet Oscar."

There seemed no way I could offend Doreen. We entered the Center and went to her office. Michael was there, his face lighting up when he saw Doreen.

"Don't forget your booking at the studio tomorrow," he said.

"Cancel it," Doreen said.

"What?" The joy evaporated from Michael's face. "We've waited four months for that booking. If you cancel, we won't be able to get that studio until after the first of the year."

"Cancel it."

"Doreen, this is the tape where you discuss the role of archetypes in illness. Your followers have been waiting for months already."

For a moment, Doreen looked at Michael. In three long strides she was beside him. She put her hands on either side of his face. "Michael, it doesn't matter." Her voice was very soft.

"It does matter, Doreen," he said. The edge was gone from his voice, but it was still strong. "You have commitments. You've made promises. I've spent the last four weeks setting this up. The CDs and tapes are due to ship out just before Christmas."

"And what will happen if the tapes are never made?"

"A lot of people will be disappointed. And we'll have to pay for the studio time anyway. That's a lot of money."

"Money isn't a consideration here, Michael."

"Of course it's not. Money doesn't matter to you because you never have to dirty your hands with it. I'm the one who takes care of all the financial problems. I'm the one who ultimately pays the bills for your decisions."

Michael's face was pale, his eyes angry.

"Michael, you're wonderful at your job. But it is my decision to make."

I saw the muscle in his jaw clench and then relax. He took a breath. "Yes, Doreen. It is your decision. But as your financial advisor, I have to tell you when I think you're making a mistake."

"You've told me," she said softly. "You've done your job. More than your job. As always."