Bone Appétit

by Carolyn Haines

  When I hung up from my call with Coleman and went back inside, there was a note at the desk from Tinkie.

  “Meet me in the room,” she wrote. “Hurry.”

  I did just that and once the elevator released me, I sprinted down the hall. I rushed inside to Tinkie and a worried Samuel.

  “Tell her what you told me,” Tinkie ordered Samuel.

  Brow furrowed, elegant fingers twining, Samuel began. “You know the story about Hedy’s daddy, how he disappeared in the swamps and nothing was ever found of him except his boat, which was spinning in circles.”

  I nodded. Whatever Samuel knew weighed heavily on him.

  “Kids in school teased Hedy all her life. Her mama’s people were from New Orleans. There was always talk about a Creole background, but that never meant much to Hedy or me. It was the Marie Laveau tales that tormented Hedy. Folks saying her mama was a conjure woman who killed her daddy.”

  “Some members of the Saulnier family may have been involved with Marie Laveau, at least in some limited way,” I said.

  “That was back before the Civil War. Close on to two hundred years have gone by, but folks won’t let it rest,” he said. “Miss Clara, Hedy’s mama, made some healing potions and sold a few charms, but she never consorted with the devil.”

  “Now is a fine time to come clean with all of this.” I was aggravated.

  “Hedy swore me to secrecy. Miss Tinkie here made me realize I had to speak up or someone else might die.”

  Thank goodness for Tinkie’s persuasive talents, but I was still annoyed at Samuel’s and Hedy’s stonewalling.

  “Hush up your fussing, Sarah Booth, and let the young man talk.” Tinkie pushed me into a chair beside Samuel.

  “Miss Clara was so hurt by what happened after her husband disappeared in the swamps, it changed her, and it impacted Hedy. You know how cruel people in small towns can be. Well, Hedy never had a chance. Especially not the way she looked. I think most of the ugly talk had to do with jealousy. Those teenage girls, they were awful. If Hedy had to give a speech in school or had a date, they wrote things on the blackboard or on her locker.” Samuel shook his head. “I did what I could, but it wasn’t a lot.”

  “Okay, I feel sorry for Hedy. What does this have to do with anything?”

  “Hedy’s father, Larry Blackledge, was a good man, from what Miss Clara told me. He was from up North, from a very educated family. When he met Miss Clara, it was love at first sight. He decided to stay in Mississippi with her, because she wouldn’t leave.”

  There were overtones here of the Rubella and James Gramacy romance. Several articles portrayed the first Saulnier daughter in service to the voodoo queen. Rather than help, this information could hurt Hedy if she was charged with anything.

  “The Blackledge family was very upset,” Samuel said. “Mr. Larry was the favored child, a brilliant scholar, an architect whose designs as a young adult attracted attention around the world. Miss Clara said his family had great expectations for him. But Mr. Larry didn’t care. He wanted Miss Clara, and he was determined to be with her, no matter what.”

  “Did she bewitch him?” I asked. I thought with a chill of Marcus’s claim that Hedy had glamoured him.

  Samuel’s face eased into a smile. “I didn’t think you’d be superstitious.”

  “Okay, so what happened?”

  “The way Miss Clara told me was that she had Hedy, and the three of them were happy. They were isolated, but privacy was what they wanted. Mr. Larry built them a wonderful house. It’s unique, high up in the trees so when the river floods, they’re snug and safe. But it wasn’t a typical house, and that’s hard on a kid.”

  “I get the picture. Poor Hedy, surrounded by brilliant and kind eccentrics.” I checked my watch. “What does this have to do with anything?”

  “When Mr. Larry disappeared, his family tried to have Miss Clara charged with murder. They all came down to Mississippi with high-powered lawyers and the newspapers in their pocket and they destroyed her. She was never charged with murder, but everyone believed she killed Mr. Larry because he was going to leave her and take Hedy.”

  Despite myself, I was riveted. I didn’t believe Hedy or her mother practiced voodoo, but the repetitive patterns in their lives were enough to make me consider some higher intervention. Hedy and Vivian were reliving the hell that Clara and Hedy must have confronted.

  “Did Mr. Blackledge plan to leave Clara?”

  Samuel shrugged. “I wouldn’t think so. Miss Clara always talked like Mr. Larry was the best thing that ever happened to her except for Hedy. She took it hard when Hedy got pregnant with Marcus Wellington’s child. They had a big fight and Hedy left. She was alone and scared when she gave Vivian up. When Hedy went home to get Miss Clara to help her fight for the baby, it was awful.”

  Hedy had resurrected Clara’s nightmare.

  “Miss Clara told Hedy to give up, said she couldn’t fight money and power.”

  “Your story is interesting, but we know most of this.” I looked at Tinkie, who tick-a-locked her lips. I was getting a little weary of being told to shut up.

  Tinkie stepped in front of me. “I was down in the hotel computer room borrowing the printer—”

  “And that’s when I saw her,” Samuel interrupted.

  “Saw who?” I asked.

  “Larry Blackledge’s sister, Anna.”

  Confusion made me look from one to the other. “Who?”

  “Anna Blackledge is Anna Lock,” Tinkie said. “I looked up the Bronsill family and went through newspaper clippings. There was a photo of Lamar Bronsill receiving an award and a woman identified as Anna Lock is standing with him.”

  “But it’s really Anna Blackledge,” Samuel said.

  “But why didn’t Hedy recognize her?” I asked. “She lived with Hedy for two weeks as a nanny before Marcus took Vivian.”

  “The past was painful for Hedy. Especially the Blackledge family angle. Mr. Larry had old photos of his relatives, but Hedy avoided all things connected to people who thought her mother had killed her father. I was over there one afternoon and found the photo albums in the trash. I flipped through them out of curiosity. Miss Clara came out the back door and caught me. She wanted to talk. Even the strongest people need to unburden sometimes.”

  Tinkie went to a folder on the bed and brought out a somewhat blurred copy of a newspaper picture. A younger version of Anna Lock stood proudly beside a young man who wore a huge medallion. “Are you sure about this, Samuel?”

  He nodded. “I’m sure. She’s older, but it’s the lady from the photographs at the Saulnier house.”

  When I met Tinkie’s gaze, I could see she was thinking exactly what I was thinking. Anna Lock or Anna Blackledge had a lot of reasons to hate Hedy, not because of anything Hedy had done, but because of old history. Raising and alienating Vivian would be sweet revenge—the Saulnier family had taken her brother, so she would take the daughter. Framing Hedy for murder would be even sweeter, and Anna knew the weaknesses of the Saulnier family.

  “What are you going to do?” Samuel asked. “If Hedy gets wind of this, she’s liable to head over to Panther Holler with a gun and a box of ammunition. She’d do anything to protect Vivian.”

  “We have no proof of anything,” I pointed out.

  “When has that ever stopped us?” Tinkie asked.

  “Good point.” My first thought was for the safety of the child. Anna had raised the little girl, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t harm her. “We have to get Vivian away from the household.”

  Samuel nodded. “I was hoping you’d say that. I want to help.”

  “Do you think we can convince Jansen to take legal steps to remove her from the house?” I checked my watch. We didn’t have time to waste persuading him.

  Tinkie hesitated. “There’s another way. Let me call Marcus, get a feel for Vivian’s schedule.”

  “He won’t give us the time of day.” Tinkie must have forgotten we’d been a thorn in Marcus’s
side.

  “Maybe he won’t, but Clive might.”

  “Good idea.” I handed her the phone book from the bedside table.

  She dialed and held up a hand for silence. After a few opening gambits, she went after pay dirt. “I’m concerned for Vivian’s safety,” she said. “It’s long and complicated, Clive, but you have to trust me. Vivian is in danger. We can’t be certain Marcus isn’t involved. My guess is that he’s been used, but it doesn’t matter right now. Vivian’s safety is my concern. Will you help us make certain she’s safe, until things are resolved?”

  Tinkie blanched, and I knew the news was bad. “Thanks. Can you find out if the nanny went with them?”

  She replaced the phone and turned to us. “Vivian has gone with Gilliard and Frances to Memphis for a weekend at the Peabody Hotel. Marcus told Clive they might take a vacation to Europe.”

  “This is awfully sudden. Is Anna with them?” I asked. The upside of Anna’s disappearance would be Tinkie’s safety.

  “Clive’s trying to find out. In the meantime, I’ll call Oscar. He’s friends with the owners of the Peabody. If Oscar asks, the hotel security can arrange to keep an eye on Vivian and her grandparents.” She had her phone out and was dialing.

  “Excellent plan, Tink.” Vivian was out of our reach, but Anna was unaccounted for. If she was crazy enough to frame her own niece, no telling what she might do to keep control of her great-niece.

  “This isn’t good,” Samuel said. “If Anna wants to hurt Hedy, Vivian is the way to do it.”

  Tinkie relayed the situation to Oscar, who assured her he would handle it. She’d just hung up when the phone rang. Tinkie nodded. “Clive, did Marcus say where Anna had gone?” Her grip on the phone whitened her knuckles as she listened for several moments. “Thank you, Clive,” she said before lowering the phone.

  “Did he know where Anna is?” I asked.

  “Anna and Marcus had an argument yesterday. About Hedy.” Tinkie didn’t try to hide her worry. “Anna threatened to quit and Marcus told her to take a week off. He made arrangements for his parents to take Vivian on a trip.”

  “What did they argue about?” Was it two murderers at odds with each other, or an innocent man who’d awakened to the possibility of a viper in his home?

  “Clive didn’t know.”

  “The upshot is Anna’s whereabouts are unaccounted for. If she is the killer, she’s on the loose.”

  The hospital room was bright and sunny. Babs reclined against several pillows, the TV remote in her hand. She greeted us with a wan smile. “What’s shaking?” she asked.

  I admired her spunk. “You’re lucky to be alive.”

  “Tell me. It should come as no surprise I’ve given up smoking.”

  Smiling, I patted her ankle. “Do you know who did this?”

  “Chief Jansen asked the same thing. I don’t. I guess it’s the same person who killed the other girls.”

  Tinkie slipped to the other side of the bed and took Babs’s hand. “We’re worried the killer will strike tonight. Can you help us?”

  “I’ll try.” Babs eased forward and I plumped her pillows. Her skin was a pasty gray and her red hair sprouted in clumps.

  “Did you notice anyone around your cigarettes?” I asked.

  She punched off the television and sank back with a sigh. “Dr. Sawyer said the poison was in a cigarette. It could have been inserted into my pack at any time.”

  “At the blues club did anyone get close enough to your stuff to slip a poison cigarette in with your regular brand?” Tinkie got a glass of water and held it for Babs to sip.

  “There was a woman . . . Hedy and I went to the bathroom. We had a pitcher of margaritas and a couple of guys at our table.” She thought a moment. “I left my cigarettes. When I sat down, one of the guys said a woman had bummed a cigarette. He pointed at her, but she was going out the door.”

  “What did she look like?” Tinkie and I were in symphonic mode again.

  “Short, dark hair. Didn’t see much else. She was out the door and gone.”

  “Did Doc Sawyer give a prognosis?” I asked.

  “He said I was lucky to be alive. They’re monitoring my heart. He’s ordered tests to see if permanent damage was done. He seemed hopeful.”

  “Doc’s a good guy.” I had to get to Jansen. “We’ll bring some real food when we come back,” I told her. “We’ve got to dash.”

  __________

  “Pull up a chair.” Chief Jansen motioned to two wooden armchairs. “I had a call from Sheriff Peters, and he urged me to hear you out. He sets quite a store by the two of you.”

  “He told you about the gris-gris?” Jansen made me feel like I’d been sent to the principal’s office.

  “I should arrest both of you.”

  Tinkie and I scooted our chairs closer to Jansen’s desk. “That’s not necessary,” Tinkie said. “We’re here to tell you everything we discovered.”

  “Spill it,” Jansen said.

  “Marcus’s nanny, Anna Lock, is really Hedy’s aunt, Anna Blackledge. She fits the description Joey Mott gave of the woman who followed Hedy and Babs from Ground Zero. We believe she bummed a cigarette from Babs’s pack, which gave her opportunity to slip the poison to Babs.”

  “All very interesting, but why would Hedy’s aunt want to frame her for multiple murders?”

  This was going to take a while.

  We continued with the revelation of Anna Lock/Anna Blackledge and her reasons for potentially being angry with Hedy.

  To his credit, Jansen listened and made notes. When we finished, he leaned on his elbows. “You think Anna Lock is seeking revenge for the death of her brother two decades ago?”

  “We think it’s possible,” I said. “We have no solid evidence. But we felt compelled to tell you what we’d discovered. We gave you our word.”

  He nodded.

  “Anna knew Hedy’s background. She knew how to implicate Hedy. Planting gris-gris bags, using poisons that can be grown locally. It’s possible Anna influenced Marcus against Hedy for the past two years,” Tinkie said. “Our client has been framed. My fear is that someone else will die tonight. Karrie Kompton told us she’s the top candidate to win. She may be the next target.”

  “But to kill innocent people for something that occurred so long ago just to frame a young woman who is technically her niece.” Jansen adjusted his suspenders. “Why now?”

  “Opportunity and the child. If it’s the child Anna wants, this is the perfect chance to get her.” I could see he wasn’t convinced, and I didn’t blame him. Tinkie and I had woven a lot of stray threads into a tapestry that vindicated our client. “You have to take this seriously.”

  “One thing I promise. Anna Lock or Anna Blackledge won’t come near any contestants or their desserts tonight.”

  I nodded. “Thank you.”

  “Now, since Mrs. Richmond here is a shutterbug for the papers, do you have any photos that show Anna in attendance at the pageant events?”

  “I never noticed her, but isn’t that the point?” Tinkie asked. “I mean, if she were intent on murdering the girls, she’d be subtle.”

  “Except for Brook, none of the girls were killed at an event. The killer works behind the scenes,” I said.

  “That’s true,” Jansen said. “Janet Menton was poisoned in pastries and Babs Lafitte was in a parking lot. We found the cigarette butt with traces of the poison.”

  “This last event is a dessert competition,” Tinkie said. “The contestants will be allowed into the Viking kitchen at two o’clock. Dessert will be served at a final gathering tonight at seven. Karrie Kompton may be the next victim. Mrs. Phelps asked me to help watch over the final event. I told her I would.”

  “It’s going to be a long day,” Jansen said.

  23

  The deputy guarding Hedy’s hotel door was young, handsome, and smitten with my client. When I said her name, his face lit up.

  “Go get some coffee,” I told him. “I’ll b
e with Hedy until you return.”

  “The chief told me not to leave this post.”

  “Up to you.” I shrugged. “It’s in Hedy’s best interest to have someone monitor her every move. Seriously, she’s innocent, and her best defense, if anything else happens, will be your alibi. I have no intention of allowing her to leave this room, so if you need a bathroom break or coffee, I’ll stay with her until you return.”

  Apparently I was unconvincing. He called Jansen and got his boss’s okay before he nodded his thanks and trotted down the hall for a ten-minute break. Jansen might play favorites with the rich and powerful, but he also inspired loyalty in his men.

  I tapped on the door and Hedy opened it. “Where’s Eddie?”

  “Coffee.” My task was to tell Hedy about Anna Blackledge without sending her into a panic. Oscar had found the senior Wellingtons and Vivian at the Peabody Hotel, and hotel security was watching over them. For the moment, Vivian was safe.

  “Eddie’s a good guy,” she said.

  In contrast to the last time I saw her room, it was neat and orderly—except for the cooking supplies piled on the bed. I took note of the ingredients. “What are you baking for this evening?”

  “A chocolate Dobostorta.”

  “Which is?” Tinkie and I never made it to the dessert phase of our cooking lessons, and I had a moment of regret. I loved desserts. Especially chocolate. To be able to build something chocolate and dense and rich—that might have been worth learning.

  “A six-layer sponge cake invented by and named for a Hungarian baker, Jozsef C. Dobos. It’s rich and moist and one of the best chocolate cakes I’ve ever tasted. For all its elegance, it’s plain. I’m hoping the other contestants create ornate desserts and my Dobostorta will stand out.”

  “A fine strategy.” The chocolate she intended to use was a brand I’d never heard of.

  “Imported,” she said. “Holland. The art of this cake is in the chocolate. I want it to be dark and lush.”

  Just to be on the safe side I checked to be sure no one had tampered with the chocolate package. It was sealed.

  “So eggs, milk, flour—all provided at the cooking school?” Unless Evangeline Phelps stood guard over the larders, those ingredients were vulnerable.