“So she gets away with it.”
“We do the best we can,” Tamara Grimaldi said. “We’ll certainly bring it up at trial as a possible explanation for why she tried to kill you. Unless she pleads out and gets out of going to trial.”
“What happens then?”
“The judge will sentence her to an appropriate prison term. Don’t worry, she’ll be going away for a good long time either way.”
I nodded, more or less satisfied. Sometimes you just have to take what you can get and be happy.
“So what will you be doing now?” Grimaldi wanted to know. There was something a little bit off about her tone, and I glanced across the table at her. She wasn’t looking at me, just focused on making rings on the table with the bottom of her water glass. I’d once sat in this very bar watching Alexandra Puckett do the same thing. She’d been looking for a certain piece of information pertaining to her mother’s murder and her boyfriend’s possible involvement in it, but she hadn’t just come right out and asked me. I wondered what the detective wanted to know, that she wasn’t asking.
“I’m waiting for Rafe to come back from Atlanta,” I said. “I just got a house under contract that I have to shepherd to closing. And Christmas is coming up. I’ll be going to Sweetwater for a few days.”
The detective nodded. “Everything OK at home?”
“As far as I know,” I said, watching her narrowly. “Any particular reason you ask?”
She shook her head, and because the waitress appeared with our food just then, I let her off the hook. But only until the waitress had deposited our plates—Grimaldi’s burger and fries, my salad—and departed. Lifting my fork, I added innocently, “By the way, I meant to ask. Just how well have you gotten to know my brother?”
“What do you mean?” Grimaldi asked.
“You had dinner together, didn’t you? That night I called you to talk about Maybelle? He said you did.”
“It was business,” Grimaldi muttered, without meeting my eyes. Something about those French fries seemed to be very compelling.
“That’s what he said. You needed a date who didn’t look like a cop, so you called my brother. And he drove an hour from Sweetwater to help you keep an eye on Rafe and Carmen.”
“He did it for you,” Grimaldi said, looking up.
“No, he didn’t.”
“Yes, he did. I told him Mr. Collier was having dinner with someone else, someone who wasn’t you, and he wouldn’t believe me. So I told him to come look for himself.”
There was a certain logic to this, even if Dix hadn’t mentioned anything about it. “Really?”
“Yes,” Grimaldi said and looked me straight in the eye. Since I suspected she could look me straight in the eye and lie through her teeth, I wasn’t sure what to think.
“He slept with her,” I said.
For a second, Grimaldi didn’t answer. Then she put her burger down and leaned forward, her voice low. “There’s something you need to understand.”
I leaned forward too, unable to resist. “What’s that?”
“I’ve seen the two of you together. And I’ve talked to both of you. I’m pretty sure I know how you feel about him.”
“I love him,” I said.
She nodded. “He’s spent ten years deep undercover. He’s been dealing with the scum of the earth. You know what they say: you lie down with dogs, you wake up with fleas? He’s done a lot of things that’d probably scare the pants off you if he told you about them.”
I opened my mouth, and she added, “I’m sure he’s done things that would scare me too. Sleeping with Carmen Arroyo is minor compared to some of the other things he must have seen and done over the past ten years.”
I nodded. No doubt she was right about that.
“He cares about you. He protects you and looks out for you and takes risks to make sure you’re safe. If he slept with Carmen—and he probably did—it had nothing to do with how he feels about you. And if you hold it over his head, all you’ll do is prove to him that you don’t understand. And he has enough strikes against him without that.”
“You must have been talking to my brother,” I murmured.
Grimaldi shrugged. “Bottom line, Savannah—” I looked up; she so rarely calls me that, especially not in that very serious tone of voice, “if you want him, you’ll have to take him the way he is. With the parts of him you don’t understand and the parts you wish he didn’t have.”
“There are no parts I wish he didn’t have,” I said. “And I’ll take him any way I can get him, for however long he’ll stick around. And if you talk to him, you can tell him that.”
Grimaldi smiled. “I’ll do that.”
“Do you think it might make him come back sooner?”
“No,” Grimaldi said, “he’ll have to be there until the job is done. But it’ll give him incentive to work fast.”
I nodded. I just hoped it wouldn’t make him decide to stay where he was instead of venturing back into Tennessee again.
Chapter 22
I spoke to the detective once more in the next few days, on Christmas Eve morning. I was getting ready to get in the car to drive to Sweetwater for mother’s Christmas party, and I wanted to touch base with Tamara Grimaldi before I went.
“Any news from Atlanta?”
“No,” the detective said. “Why?”
“He said he’d be back for Christmas.” Probably.
“Last I heard, they were still working things out.”
Bummer. I tried not to let it show in my voice. “I’m on my way to Sweetwater. Or I will be in a few minutes. My mother always has a party on Christmas Eve.”
“Your brother told me,” Grimaldi said.
My ears pricked up. “Are you coming?”
The detective snorted. “Hardly. I’m working.”
“On Christmas?”
“Crime doesn’t take a vacation, Ms. Martin,” Tamara Grimaldi said. “In fact, it gets worse around the holidays. More money problems, more alcohol, more domestic violence. More desperate people doing whatever they can to provide Christmas for their families, including committing crimes to get what they need. Robberies go up. So do burglaries—lots of houses are empty—and muggings are at an all-time high. Beware the mall parking lot.”
“I’ve already done my Christmas shopping. I bought you a scarf. Turquoise. My brother’s favorite color.” And a good choice for her coloring.
There was a pause.
“Thank you,” Grimaldi said.
“My pleasure. I’ll drop it off in downtown on my way. Will you be there?”
“Not until tonight,” Grimaldi said. “I’m off this morning.”
“I’ll leave it at the front desk for you.”
“Thank you.”
There was another pause.
“I guess I should go. Have a merry Christmas, detective.”
“And you have a good trip to Sweetwater. When will you be back?”
I told her I’d be a couple of days. “Catherine and Jonathan are hosting family dinner tomorrow. I’ll probably spend the night again and come back the next day.”
“Don’t be a stranger,” Grimaldi said. “And wish your brother a merry Christmas for me.”
She hung up before I had the chance to respond.
Thirty minutes later I was on my way. I’d loaded up the car, driven downtown, dropped off my present for the detective at police headquarters, stopped by the office to tell everyone I would be gone the next couple of days, and hit the road. I was passing Brentwood when my cell phone rang.
“Hi, Savannah,” Alexandra Puckett said.
“Hi, Alex. Everything OK?”
“Everything’s great!” I could imagine the smile flooding her face. “We’re in Florida.”
“You are?”
“Uh-huh.” I heard her earring clicking against the phone and pictured her nodding vigorously. “Spur of the moment trip. It’s our first Christmas without mom, and now my dad doesn’t even have Maybelle to tak
e his mind off things. So he got us all tickets to Florida. We left yesterday.”
“Good for you,” I said.
Alexandra lowered her voice. “Thanks for getting rid of her.”
“My pleasure. Turns out you were right. She did kill her husbands. All three of them. Or so we think, anyway.”
“That’s what my dad said,” Alexandra said. “I’m not sure he believes it, though.”
“Maybe he’ll start to believe it once he’s had some time to process.” It couldn’t be easy to realize that the woman you wanted to marry wasn’t who you thought she were.
Alexandra didn’t sound like she cared too much one way or the other, actually. “The wedding’s off, anyway. So do you think she’d have killed my dad, too?”
“Eventually? Maybe. She killed everyone else. I think he’s much safer without her.”
“Uh-huh,” Alexandra agreed. “Thank you, Savannah.”
“My pleasure. Have a good time in Florida.”
Alexandra giggled and said she would, and we hung up. I focused on driving the Volvo through Christmas Eve traffic, on roads that were slick with sleet, toward Sweetwater.
The Martin mansion sits on a little knoll outside Sweetwater proper, on the road to Columbia. Back in the old days, the plantation had lots of land surrounding it, but now there’s just a couple acres left, and a few buildings. An old smoke house and one of the old slave cabins, in addition to the mansion itself.
The mansion is antebellum, 1839, and looks like a Southern plantation. In the movies, plantation houses are big and white and square with tall pillars. In real life, a lot are red or yellow brick, and only the pillars are white. Some aren’t made of brick at all, and don’t have any pillars. Throughout the deep south, especially Louisiana, you get the French Creole architecture instead: the low spreading roofline and wraparound galleries, all starting well above ground level.
The Martin plantation is pretty typical of its age and location. It’s two stories tall, built from red brick, with symmetrical windows and tall, white pillars in the front. Rafe once called it a mausoleum, and although I was a little offended at the time, I can see his point.
It belonged to my father’s family, and after his death, my mother turned it into a special events venue. People rent it for weddings and other parties, and at least once or twice a year, a photographer brings several rail thin models down for a photo shoot, while a handful of music videos have been filmed on the grounds. And then there are the school groups, who come to gawk at the slave cabin and the artifacts of the old days laid out in the smoke house.
Growing up, the mansion was just home, where I lived. I didn’t think much of it, beyond that. Now that I’ve been gone for almost ten years, I can see how impressive it is, and also how it’s an embodiment of history, a past that means different things to different people. It looked self-satisfied sitting there on its knoll, unapproachable, gazing down on the road below along its metaphorical nose. And it was bedecked with greenery and lights for Christmas, like a picture on the cover of Southern Living magazine. My mother has excellent taste.
Of course, it also looked warm and inviting, with light spilling out of its tall windows. Home. I pulled the car up to the entrance in the front and jumped out, hurrying up the stairs. “Mother?”
“In here,” my mother’s voice came back, from the parlor on the right. “Is that you, Savannah?”
I said it was. “What are you doing?”
“Just getting ready for tonight,” my mother said. I heard a melodic tinkling, which made me think she was pouring M&Ms into a bowl. This hypothesis was born out a moment later when she appeared in the doorway with an empty candy bag in her hand. “Hello, darling.”
She leaned in. I air-kissed first one cheek and then the other.
My mother is lovely. She’s in her mid fifties, and looks at least ten years younger. Some of it is nature, plus a lot of hard work, but some is artifice too. She spends a good bit of money on looking like this. Then again, it’s her money, and I guess she can use it however she wants.
“Have you had lunch, darling?”
I said I hadn’t, and she whisked me off to the kitchen to feed me. Some things never change.
We don’t have servants. Mother employs a service that comes in and cleans once a week. Other than that, she’s on her own. She does her own day-to-day cooking and cleaning, and her own laundry. Granted, most of her wardrobe is dry-clean only, but she does wash her own socks and underwear. I didn’t grow up spoiled; I had to clean my own room and help with the rest of the house, and I also know how to do my own laundry and cooking.
The Christmas party tonight would be catered, but buffet-style, so we wouldn’t have to be bothered with serving staff and could enjoy being ‘just the family,’ as mother put it.
“Todd told me he’s coming,” I said, lowering my roast beef sandwich.
Mother looked a touch guilty, but only for a second. “Bob’s coming, dear. He has no other family. Nor does Todd.”
“I know that,” I said. “With the way you and Bob Satterfield are carrying on, I’m not surprised you want him here. And I guess you couldn’t very well leave Todd out. I just don’t want it to be awkward.”
“Just don’t say anything embarrassing,” mother said.
And there, in a nutshell, you have my mother. Concerned that I would say something to embarrass Todd. In my childhood home during my family’s Christmas party.
“I’m not worried about his feelings,” I said. “I’m worried about mine.”
“Nonsense,” my mother answered. “Todd loves you.”
“That’s the problem. He won’t take no for an answer.”
My mother’s face puckered. Not in a sour way, but as if she were trying not to cry. “Are you sure you couldn’t...”
“I’m sure,” I said. “I’d make him just as miserable as Jolynn did once he got used to me. There’s no way I’d be able to live up to his expectations. And I’d be miserable, too. You don’t want me to be miserable, do you?”
“Of course not, darling,” mother said, since it was the only thing she could say, “but are you sure...”
“I’m positive. Rafe’s in Atlanta, but when he comes back, I will figure out a way to keep him around. If I can get him to propose, I will marry him. If I can’t, I’ll live in sin. And I don’t care what anyone thinks of it. I hope you can find it in your heart to wish me the best, but if you can’t, I’m still going to try.”
“Of course, dear,” mother said, choking slightly on the words.
I took pity on her. “I love you, mom. I know he isn’t what you envisioned for me. But he makes me happy. And if you give him a chance, I think you’ll like him.”
Who was I kidding? He’d terrify her. But that was her problem, not mine. I had enough on my plate just making sure he stuck around. My mother’s feelings were of secondary importance. And it wouldn’t hurt her any to be dragged, kicking and screaming, into the new century. So I just devoted myself to my sandwich and didn’t say anything else about it.
She kept me hopping for the rest of the afternoon. I’m not saying there was any correlation between that and our conversation—for instance, that she wanted to make sure we had no more time for a heart to heart—but the truth is, we didn’t exchange any meaningful comments after that. I spent my time filling candy dishes and replacing candles and hanging mistletoe. Just after four o’clock mother sent me upstairs to get ready, since every Southern Belle with self-respect needs at least two hours to get herself dressed for an occasion.
I took a bath, slathered myself with lotion, dried my hair in loose waves I piled on top of my head, dunked perfume behind my ears, and painted my face. And got dressed in that emerald green velvet dress I’d been admiring at the mall that afternoon I’d seen Carmen walk by. After everything that happened—and after inking the binding contract with Kylie and Aislynn—I’d convinced myself I needed (and could afford) a new dress for Christmas. My red satin wasn’t back from the clea
ners yet, and between you and me, I had grave concerns that they’d never be able to turn it back into what it had been before I’d been manhandled and kidnapped in it. But the green velvet was an acceptable substitute. Heavy velvet, fitted bodice, low-cut and elegant, with a full skirt that made my waist look smaller. I looked good, and when I walked into the parlor later that evening, Todd took one look at me and forgot to breathe.
My heart sank. I should have worn an old sack or something.
“Savannah, darling!” mother trilled. “You look lovely!”
She looked pretty good herself, in a tight black skirt and a sequined top that matched her champagne-colored hair. She was sitting on great-aunt Marie’s peach velvet loveseat, and I think she was holding hands with Todd’s dad, the sheriff.
“Can I get you a drink, Savannah?” Todd asked.
I smiled at him. “Chardonnay, please.”
He clicked his heels together and gave me a little bow. Todd’s on his very best behavior whenever mother is around. It’s as if he thinks that if he just keeps impressing her, she’ll talk me into marrying him one of these days.
“Y’all right, darlin’?” the sheriff wanted to know. Todd’s father is an older version of Todd; still tall and lean, but with gray hair that’s thinning now that he’s pushing sixty.
“I’m fine, thank you. Everything’s great.” I gave him a brilliant smile.
“They got that whole mess up there in Nashville figured out?”
I assumed the ‘mess’ he was referring to was the situation with Hector and La Havana and all the rest of it, so I said I believed they had. “I spoke to Detective Grimaldi before I left this morning. She sends her regards.” I glanced at Dix when I said it, since she’d really only told me to give her regards to him. I’m pretty sure the tops of Dix’s ears colored, but he didn’t comment. I didn’t, either.
Todd came back with a glass of white wine he presented to me with a flourish, and I thanked him and drifted off, into the corner where Catherine and Aunt Regina sat. “Mind if I join you?”
Catherine smiled while Aunt Regina moved over. “Sit, sit. Tell me everything!”
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