Phantom of Riverside Park (27 page)

No, there was no way Elizabeth was going to
give them advance warning. She was simply going to show up, and if
she had to sit on their front porch and wait for them, then so be
it.

Papa had been through enough turmoil. He was
getting too old to make the long trip there and back, plus go
through all the nasty confrontation that was sure to ensue.

Still, he was a primary factor in the case.
He deserved a chance to defend himself in person. Besides, once the
Belliveaus saw him, they would surely change their mind about
taking Nicky, wouldn’t they?

“When are we leavin’?” Papa asked.

“Tomorrow.”

o0o

They didn’t talk much on the drive to the
Delta. They didn’t even turn on the radio. They were two against
the world, going into battle.

Without thought Elizabeth began to hum the
hymn Mae Mae always sang when she was troubled, the familiar tune a
balm to her battered soul.

“Remember that, Papa?”

Instead of answering he began to sing, his
voice shaky and uncertain at first, then as the stress rolled away,
a powerful supplication to the God who had been his bulwark and
shield all his life. The song was “A Mighty Fortress is our
God.”

She reached out and caught Papa’s hand, and
they both felt it, a third touch light as dandelions, brushing
against their knuckles.

“We’re going to get through this, Papa.”

“You bet we will.”

The part of Memphis they were passing through
didn’t have a thing to distinguish it from any other city in the
South, just the same strip malls and fast food places and service
stations that had sprung up like mushrooms over the past
twenty-five years. The South Elizabeth loved emerged when they left
the city limits. Loblolly pines and black jack oaks and sweet gum
trees competed for space on hills the travel writers called
undulating and rolling, and draped over them all was a canopy of
kudzu that seemed determined to blanket northeast Mississippi.

Occasionally there was a well-kept pasture
where not a single thistle dared grow, where cows moved in slow
motion toward a lake nearly gone dry with the drought and
dragonflies circled in the blistering heat. Hills gave way to the
flat plains of the Delta, and her palms began to sweat. There, just
up ahead, was the Belliveau mansion.

“It’s just a house,” Papa said, patting her
hand. “And the Belliveaus are people, just like you and me.”

Not exactly
.

Her old car looked ridiculous parked in the
Belliveaus’ driveway. Besides that, it had overheated on the long
climb up the hill, and now sat jerking and hissing steam like a
snake.

But Elizabeth wasn’t about to let something
as stupid as a worn-out car undermine her mission. She was going
inside that mansion as full of self-assurance as if she’d arrived
in a lemon zing.

Thinking of Nicky’s phrase brought tears. She
wiped her face with the back of her hands, then gave Papa a brave
smile.

“We’re here.”

He was still and silent for so long she
feared he was having a heart attack, or at the very least a change
of heart. Finally he returned her smile.

“Let’s go kick some butt, then.”

That was so out-of-character for Papa, they
both laughed, but their laughter had a nervous edge. The long
walkway that led to the front porch was old brick laid in a
herringbone pattern. Time had warped the path and allowed moss to
grow in patches.

Elizabeth felt like Dorothy following the
yellow brick road. At the end would be the mighty Wizard of Oz who
would grant her dearest wish, to go home again. Naturally the
Wizard would realize that home wasn’t the rude house on Vine
Street, but Nicky of the shining blond Belliveau hair and the guard
John angel and the funny, jumbled-up songs.

At the end of the brick path was a set of
steps so steep and intimidating they might as well have been
Egypt.

“Maybe you shouldn’t try to climb these
steps, Papa.”

“I’ve come this far. I’m not fixin’ to quit
now.”

It took her twice as long as it would have if
she’d been alone, but suddenly she was glad to have Papa with her.
All her life, every time something bad had happened to her, Papa
had been right by her side.

“I’m glad you’re with me, Papa. Thanks for
coming.”

“Where else would I be? The day I let you
face something like this alone is the day I’m turnin’ up
daisies.”

He stopped to catch his breath, while
Elizabeth rang the doorbell.

o0o

The first thing David did when he got back to
Memphis was call Peter into his office for a report of Elizabeth.
Peter had been thorough, as usual, and every word he said drove a
stake through David’s heart.

“The Belliveaus found out about Nicky after
Taylor died. They hired a private investigator to track him down--
Rolf Kitzinheimer, one of the best--then they sicced the Department
of Human Services on her.”

David sensed what was coming next, and he
steeled himself for the blow.

“They took her child, David. She’s allowed no
contact.”

He wanted to smash something. Hard. Instead,
he nodded.

“Who has the boy?”

“Jim and Carol Leigh Matthews in
Collierville. A nice couple. They’ve had foster children before.
He’s an accountant, and she’s an elementary school teacher. There
seems to be some movement from city hall to get him transferred,
though.”

“Why?”

“Elizabeth’s employer Quincy has friends in
high places. Her son-in-law Clemson Verner is the vice mayor.
They’re trying to get the boy moved in with them.”

“Quincy’s behind it.”

“That’s my guess.”

“Good for her. Is it going to work out?”

“Looks like it... There’s more, David.”

“No doubt the Belliveaus want custody. Nicky
is their only heir.”

“Exactly right. Elizabeth’s attorney is pro
bono, H. Gerald Crump, a real estate lawyer.”

“That’s not good.”

“It gets worse. Ralph Belliveau’s old school
chum is none other than Aaron Lowenstein. In the last election
there was a small scandal involving campaign money, but it got
shoved off the front page by the horror at Sandy Hook. Guess who
was the biggest contributor in Lowenstein’s last run at the
bench?”

“Belliveau.”

“Exactly. Elizabeth will be facing a bought
judge.”

No wonder the Madonna of his vision had been
crying tears of blood. The enormity of Elizabeth’s problem was
enough to overwhelm even the Mother of God.

“Is that all?”

“That’s it, except for the fire. Thomas
Jennings almost burned down the house. Accidentally, of
course.”

“That whole neighborhood ought to be burned
down. It’s not fit for human habitation.”

Which was exactly why the Belliveaus wanted
their grandson out, and who could blame them? But to take the child
away from Elizabeth was criminal. Did they have no heart?

“Is there anything else you want me to do on
this case, David?”

“Yes. Find the best child-custody lawyer in
the country. Make it top priority.”

“Do you think she has a chance of winning
this thing?”

“Not without a miracle.”

After Peter left, David sat in his office
mulling over the problem. Years of isolation had honed his powers
of concentration to an art. After an hour of perfect silence, David
knew what he was going to do.

It wasn’t a miracle, but it might work. He
thought about what McKenzie had said. Was he playing God again?

Maybe.

Of course, the unknown factor was Elizabeth.
What she would say, what she would do? He couldn’t predict her
reaction.

The only thing he could predict was her
motive. A mother would do anything to save her child.

o0o

The
parlor
, as Savannah Rose called
the room they were in, reminded Elizabeth of the lobby at the
Peabody, lots of crystal and marble, Oriental rugs so thick you
sank up to the ankles and found yourself in danger of getting mired
up forever, which wasn’t very far from the truth.

They’d been sitting there for three hours
waiting for one of the Belliveaus to return home, and in all that
time Savannah Rose had not even offered them a single sip of
water.

“So much for Southern hospitality,” Elizabeth
muttered after Savannah Rose had shown them in, then hurried out as
if she ants in her pants.

“Like I always said, money can’t buy
manners,” Papa said.

At first she and Papa had talked in whispers,
as if there might be spies hidden behind the heavy velvet draperies
and microphones planted in the polished wood tables. Then they got
bold. And thirsty. And angry.

“You’d think people who lived like this would
be so grateful for all their blessin’s they’d be a little bit
generous hearted,” Papa said.

“Taylor wasn’t.”

“You’re right. He was a rotten apple, selfish
to the core.”

It was the first time Elizabeth had ever
heard Papa speak ill of the dead, but then it was also the first
time the dead had reached out from the grave to haunt them. If
Taylor had only
told
about his son from the very
beginning, all this wouldn’t be happening. Nicky would be sitting
in the middle of the thick carpet playing with his fire truck while
his grandparents sat not two feet away and bragged on him.

Or else, they’d have dismissed both her and
Nicky right away, and that would have been the end of it.

But
no
, he had to go and keep his
secret that was going to be the destruction of them all.

“How are you holding out, Papa?”

“I’m madder than an old wet hen. How much
would it cost that woman to offer us a drink of water? If something
doesn’t happen soon I’m goin’ to march back there in that kitchen
and pour myself a drink of something cold in the biggest glass I
can find.”

Elizabeth was ashamed of herself for sitting
there like a mouse and watching her Papa go thirsty.

“You sit tight, Papa. I’ll get you
something.”

About the time she got up from her chair, the
front door slammed and she heard Anna Lisa Belliveau’s voice.

“My
stars!
Savannah Rose, there’s a
car
parked in front of our house!”

She was the kind of woman who spoke in
italics and exclamation points. The emphasis she gave to certain
words precisely conveyed her feelings. Elizabeth’s car, she clearly
considered junk from the devil’s own junkyard.

“What’s it
doing
there?”

“You got company, Miss Anna Lisa. They’re
waitin’ in the parlor.”

“You let those
people
in the
house
?”

“It was too hot to sit on the verandah. Ain’t
fit for dogs out there, much less somebody who says she’s the
mother of Taylor’s boy.”

“Merciful
God
in
heaven
.”

Elizabeth clenched so hard even her hair felt
tight. Smoothing her skirt, she stood tall and proud while she
faced the door. Papa came to stand beside her.

When Anna Lisa saw them she looked as if
she’d been smacked in the face with a rotten watermelon. She turned
so white Elizabeth thought she was going to faint and fall over.
She did wobble a bit, then at the last minute she grabbed the heavy
carved door and hung on.

“Why are you
here
?” she
whispered.

“There’s no accounting for bad manners,” Papa
told Elizabeth, then he stepped forward with his hand outstretched.
“Mrs. Belliveau, I’m Thomas Jennings and this is my granddaughter,
Elizabeth.”

Anna Lisa ignored Papa’s outstretched hand,
and that’s when Elizabeth wanted to slap her. For a moment he stood
there frozen in his posture of politeness, then he came back to
stand by Elizabeth.

“I know
who
you are. I have
nothing
to say to you.”

Papa puffed up like a bantam rooster, and
Elizabeth put a hand on his arm.

“I’ll handle this, Papa.”

“There’s
nothing
to
handle,
young woman. Savannah Rose! Come see these
people
out!”

It was the third time Elizabeth had been
treated like cotton patch trash by a Belliveau. And it was her
last.

“You needn’t bother, Savannah Rose.” She was
proud of how she could keep her voice soft and her manner pleasant,
as if she’d dropped by for a cup of afternoon tea. Her dignity was
a sharp contrast to Anna Lisa’s hysterics. She hoped the almighty
Belliveau matriarch took note.”I’ve come here to discuss the future
of my son and your grandson, Mrs. Belliveau, and if you have no
more love in your heart than to throw me out the door like a
backstreet strumpet, then I promise you one thing. I’ll make
dead-level certain you
never
see Nicky.”

Anna Lisa’s lips trembled and all her hauteur
drained away. Dismissing Savannah Rose with a wave of her hand, she
closed the door then groped toward a chair like a very old
woman.

“Ralph’s not
home,
” she quavered. “I
don’t think we should be
talking
to each other before the
hearing
.”

“I’m hoping a hearing won’t be necessary,
Mrs. Belliveau. I’m hoping that you will see you don’t have to take
Nicky from me in order to have him in your life.”

“He’s our
grandson!
”

“He’s my son.”

“You call him
Jennings
! He’s a
Belliveau
!”

“Taylor didn’t want him. He refused to marry
me and give his son a name. He refused even to acknowledge
him.”

“He’s
living
in
squalor
.”

“We’re doing the best we can, with no help
from Taylor.”

“My son is
dead
. How
dare
you say those
things
about him?”

“Because they are true. Taylor didn’t want
Nicky, and now you’re trying to take him away from me. Why? Why
didn’t you come to me, face to face, and say that you wanted to
acknowledge your grandson? I’m a good mother. You never even gave
me a chance.”