by ML Gamble
A dull roaring had begun in Elizabeth’s ears. She felt the familiar panic and loss of equilibrium. Inside her skull she heard a woman screaming, far-off and lonely. Elizabeth blinked quickly and tried to push away the thoughts she had been haunted by forever.
“All I know is that Miss Lou and the judge were approached by a business associate, an attorney named Emmett Peach. Mr. Peach told them he knew of a child he said had been orphaned in a violent incident in Alabama who needed a good home. He knew they were interested in adoption, and they took me. According to them, Peach said he wasn’t at liberty to discuss anything further with them about my background, as the courts had sealed my birth certificate.”
“How old were you?”
“Five.”
“Do you know if this Peach guy is still around?”
“No.” She took a deep breath. “Actually, that’s where I was hoping Dottie would start to look for me. I gave her his name. We’ll have to check if she tried to contact him. Maybe if he is retired or something, he won’t be so closemouthed about telling us more details about the adoption. Especially when we explain about what’s been happening.”
“Don’t count on it,” Tommy Lee replied. “Most lawyers I know fit the joke about the skunks.”
“What joke?”
“What’s the difference between a dead skunk in the road and a dead lawyer in the road?”
“Tell me, if you must.” Elizabeth smiled, despite their bleak discussion.
“There’re skid marks in front of the skunk.”
She laughed, amused as much by his grin as the slanderous joke. So Tommy Lee McCall, for all his tough-guy image, enjoyed a little corn. She liked that about him.
Another mile of causeway asphalt rolled beneath them before Tommy Lee spoke again. “Dottie also mentioned you have some specific memories. Can you tell me about them, or anything else you do know about your folks?”
Elizabeth sighed. The night, which only moments ago had seemed so full of adventure and promise, now seemed oppressively chill and bleak, as if the stars in the December sky had receded farther away from Earth, leaving it a dimmer, colder place. The rollercoaster effect made her suddenly realize she was exhausted. “I have a couple of pictures in my head—probably repressed memories, according to a psychiatrist—that are pretty horrible. They almost make me feel like I’m going to black out, they’re so vivid, but unreal, somehow, like I’m watching them from up high, or far away. They’re of a woman screaming. But I don’t remember anything else. Except a tall man, wearing white. Who read to me. And maybe…”
Her whispered words hung between them in the car. Tommy Lee pulled off the interstate and headed down a gravel road. The sound of his turn signal clicking and the old tires slipping against the crushed stone echoed inside the truck.
“Maybe what?” he finally prodded as a small, white wood-frame house came into view.
“I think the woman screaming was blond, like me. And I think she was my mother.” Elizabeth added, then surprised them both by bursting into tears.
TWO OF THE FOUR IMPOSING residences on Kings Landing Road, sporting regal purple-and-black Midnight Ball Committee banners and Christmas wreaths with opulent red velvet bows, were lit up and full of partygoers.
The executive committee—all nine voting delegates—and their wives were in India and Bennett Heywood’s home at Number Nine, Kings Landing. The house looked stunning, the food was delicious, the drinks generous and topped off when each committee member took so much as a sniff from his champagne glass. Which is how things should be, India thought to herself as she shooed Rosellen out the door to the party at the house next to theirs.
She watched as her daughter slowly walked away like a beautiful ghost, her white satin shoes glimmering against the flagstone like Cinderella’s.
India smiled. Her dream was within her grasp. All the events of the day had not gone completely as planned, she acknowledged, but nothing had gone so wrong as to threaten the dream. She went back into the living room, where the clock on the mantel read 10:50.
In an hour and ten minutes she would close the members into her husband’s den for the tally. In an hour and twenty minutes, she was sure Rosellen Heywood would be named Queen on the small, gold-inked card that the Caretaker of the Tally would lock into a box and read aloud at midnight on New Year’s Eve.
No other decision was imaginable.
AT THE PARTY at Number Eleven Kings Landing Road, Paris Prince and his sister, Madrid “Mattie” Carter, along with Mattie’s daughter, twenty-two-yearold Aspen, were greeting the electees and their dates.
Tammy Rose, accompanied by her date, arrived at the door just as Rosellen Heywood scurried up the steps. Without a wrap, the dark-haired girl was clutching her arms to keep warm.
“Hey, Tammy,” Rosellen greeted, buzzing the doorbell.
“Hi, Rosellen,” replied Tammy, staring at Rosellen’s huge diamond earrings but not commenting on them. She pulled on her boyfriend’s arm. “Come on, honey. I’m dying to get inside and have some punch.”
“Good to see you,” the young man said, nodding to Rosellen. “You look cold. But very, very pretty.”
“Thank you,” Rosellen replied. She glanced down at her slim, diamond-encrusted wristwatch. “Only another hour to go before the Caretaker knows the tally.”
Tammy rolled her eyes. “Like we don’t all know you’re going to win, Rosellen.”
Paris Prince himself threw open the front door. He was wearing a white tux, which made his red hair look positively carrot-colored.
“Well, it’s two of my last missing rosebuds,” Paris purred as he admitted the girls. “And two of the prettiest. Rosellen, you are an absolute picture in that dress. I’m dying, isn’t that your mama’s very same coronation dress?”
Rosellen grinned and pushed her bangs off her forehead nervously. “You know Mama. It wouldn’t do to not wear the sacred family heirloom.”
“Mattie, look at this,” he called over his tuxedoed shoulder to his sister.
Aspen smiled stiffly and Tammy looked bored while Mattie and Paris clucked over Rosellen. “Darling Rosellen, you look every bit as yummy as your mama and grandma!”
“Thank you, Mayor Prince. But why are you here? I thought you’d be with the committee at my house.”
“Oh, I just ran over for a second to see all you darling girls. Don’t worry, I’ll slip back before your mama knows I’m being rude.”
While her uncle prattled on, Aspen took Tammy and her young man by the hands and turned her back on her mother and uncle, leaving them to fuss over Rosellen, whose eyes were blank and glassy as usual.
“Looks like little Miss Medicine Lady has popped herself up for her big night,” Tammy whispered. The three shared a smirk at Rosellen’s well-known “problem” and hurried off to join the other young people.
After a few more overly generous compliments from Mattie and Paris, Rosellen and the pair went along into the living room, where thirty glittering, chattering people were lounging and partying. The tension as twelve of the thirteen electees stood pretending not to watch one another for signs of nerves was so high, Rosellen swore she heard a humming sound in her ears, like electric lines singing on a summer night. She let herself think for a moment how it would feel if she won, a leaping feeling of joy that was quickly extinguished by the fear of what would happen if she did not.
Her boyfriend, Paul deAngelis, was sitting in front of the fire, his face rosy with warmth and booze, alongside Aspen.
“Miss Rosellen,” Paris directed, patting Rosellen’s arm, “you had better get your pretty self over there and remind that boy of his obligations.”
He took a quick look at the mantel clock. “It’s five after eleven. All you beauties are here except for Elizabeth Monette.” Turning from Rosellen, he called out, “Does anyone know where our lovely Miss Monette has gotten herself tonight?”
The door chimes sounded and Paris, grabbing Aspen by the arm to help him greet his late arrival, hur
ried from the room. Rosellen crossed to the sofa, a bit unsteady on the four-inch heels India had demanded she wear, and was pulled down onto Paul’s lap. He planted a kiss on her neck.
The smell of rum was heavy on his breath. “Hey, gorgeous. How’s the dragon lady doing next door? Has she had to kill any of the committee members yet?”
Rosellen made a face at him. “Very funny. Mama is doing great. I just hope she doesn’t fall apart the next couple of weeks.”
“Fall apart? Your mama? A bomb could go off in that woman’s powder box and she’d stay calm.”
His speech was slurred, but Rosellen liked it when Paul was drunk. He was much nicer than when sober. “Mama will be fine.” She let her gaze wander over to the doorway where Aspen had returned, hoping to gain her attention, but Rosellen found Elizabeth Monette’s best friend staring at her with a wary look on her face.
“Hey, Aspen. Where’s Elizabeth? She’s not going to stand us all up, is she?”
“I’m sure she’ll be here.”
“Hope so,” Rosellen drawled. “You know Elizabeth’s a favorite to win this whole shooting match. She needs to show up at these parties, or people are going to think she’s overconfident.”
“I’m sure she’ll be here,” Aspen repeated. “Once Elizabeth decides to do something, she does it.”
“Well, that’s a good quality to have. Let’s hope she is as good as her word, because Paris prides himself on having all the electees here so he can compare them to one another. Though, once he sees for himself how much better looking Elizabeth is than some of us, he’s liable to have a sick headache and retire for the night.”
Several guests laughed at this not-so-subtle dig at Aspen and their host. It was well-known that Paris Prince had always hoped Madrid’s daughter would follow in her footsteps and be elected Queen of Midnight. But the small matter a few months ago—of rumors that he was about to be indicted for a nasty little real-estate scheme—had tainted Aspen’s chances.
It was unfair, everyone agreed, to hold the girl responsible for her uncle’s poor business judgment and even poorer moral fiber, but the Queen of Midnight was Farquier County, Louisiana, as Dr. Heywood was fond of saying. And it wouldn’t do at all to have people remembering the mayor’s unpleasantness when the newspaper printed its Queen’s biography on the front page the first day of the New Year. If one had to have a scandal in one’s family, it had better be at least ten years ago—long enough to be well-known but certainly not news.
“Forty-five minutes,” Tammy Rose suddenly announced, and the crystal mantel clock chimed the quarter hour. An excited buzz filled the room.
“You ready to be Queen the rest of your life, sweet cheeks?” Paul whispered into Rosellen’s ear.
“We’ll have to wait a couple of weeks to see who’s Queen, Paul, so don’t go counting your chickens,” she replied with a smile. For a moment an almost-overwhelming sorrow welled up inside her chest, as if she had just been told she had lost the Pageant and could see the look on India’s face. Rosellen blinked and reached for Paul’s glass and gulped down the rest of the amber liquid.
It wasn’t wise to mix her medicine with liquor, but tonight had to be some kind of medical necessity.
“Don’t kid yourself. Don’t you think your mama will know who has won as soon as those votes are counted?”
“No, I don’t Only one person knows, remember? And as far as I’ve ever heard, the secret’s never ever been revealed by the Caretaker. One year they had to have another vote because the Caretaker died and no one could read what he’d written on the card.”
“If anyone can break that little tradition, she will,” Paul said with a smirk.
“Hush. I don’t want to talk about Mama.” She turned and kissed him, willing to do anything to not think about what her mama would do to claim a victory in this year’s Queen of Midnight Pageant.
“Attention. Attention, everyone! I have news!” Their host stood in his most dramatic pose, one arm around a late arrival, Tammy’s sister, Luvey.
Luvey wore a black dress with a V neck cut dangerously low. Her red hair was swept up off her face to show off her lovely neck and well-endowed chest. She looked, thought Rosellen, like the cat who had swallowed the canary. It was known she was seeing Paul’s father, Philip deAngelis, on the sly, and Rosellen could see her boyfriend’s attention shift to the woman.
“What’s the news?” Tammy begged.
Paris tittered and turned to the roomful of guests hanging on his next words. “Elizabeth Monette was nearly murdered this afternoon, and now she’s been kidnapped from the hospital!”
“By my ex-husband, Tommy Lee McCall, no less,” Luvey chimed in. “Poor man, once he lost me he had to kidnap a girl!”
A two-second beat of stunned silence greeted this news, then everyone began to talk at once.
All but Rosellen, the only electee in the room dreading a recitation of the scandalous details, and praying they didn’t involve anyone too close to her.
Chapter Five
“I thought you might want to call your folks now,” Tommy Lee said matter-of-factly, handing Elizabeth a portable phone.
She was sitting on the edge of a soft, bouncy bed with noisy springs in Tommy Lee’s guest room. Wrapped in his heavy red-plaid woolen robe, she held a cup of Sissy Lane’s steaming hot chocolate.
“Thank you,” she replied and set the phone on the bed beside her. It immediately fell onto the floor with a bang, and she and Tommy Lee nearly bumped heads reaching for it.
“Sorry,” Elizabeth offered, letting him retrieve it. She noticed he was moving pretty stiffly and remembered, with a small shock, that it had just been a matter of hours since he’d been thrown like a bundle of newsprint onto the pavement of Government Boulevard.
No wonder he was moving slowly, she thought. She was feeling like she had been hit by a linebacker herself. She stared at the big man in the room with her, admiring his tall, well-shaped body. It was hard, disciplined, and no-nonsense, but sensuous enough to indulge a woman’s every fantasy. He looked at her quickly, as if something of her thoughts showed on her face.
She turned away, aware of his eyes. Unconsciously Elizabeth rotated both shoulders, managing to slosh chocolate onto her hands and his robe. She looked out of the corner of her eye at her host as she blotted up the mess with the supply of napkins Tommy Lee’s efficient housekeeper had left on the tray.
He was grinning at her clumsiness, which made her heart race with something she couldn’t name. She wondered if he’d trust her to rub his back. She wondered if she could trust herself. “Sorry,” she repeated. “I’ll rinse this out. How are you feeling? Pretty sore?”
“Naw. I’m fine,” he said. He sat gingerly on the chair next to the bed and studied Elizabeth’s face in the rosy light “You look none the worse for wear, considering. How’re the knees?”
She flashed open the robe and they both stared at her scabbed legs.
“It’s a good thing most of the events over the next couple of weeks are formal. I can’t see these things looking too great in short dresses.” Elizabeth smiled and was taken aback by the intense look in Tommy Lee’s eyes.
“I wouldn’t worry about that,” he said, his deep voice quiet and serious. “Now, why don’t you call your folks. I want you to tell them you’re okay before they hear tell some gossip and worry themselves sick.”
“Thank you,” Elizabeth replied. But she was not looking forward to the call at all. She dialed the number and listened for her mother’s voice, noting that the clock beside the bed read twelve-twenty.
“You missed your party,” Tommy Lee said suddenly.
“Yes. The ballots have been tallied, people are a little drunk, everyone’s excited.”
“I thought you never were involved in those parties before,” Tommy Lee said.
“Oh, I went to one or two over the years. I enjoyed them. As a spectator they are great fun, but the actual Queen and her family go nuts with running around. To say nothing of
going broke with all the entertaining.”
“Yeah. Well, for what it’s worth, I can’t imagine a more beautiful Queen.” His eyes traveled the length of her. “Skinned knees and all.”
Her skin flushed down her neck. “I don’t have a chance in hell, but thanks. I’m hoping my friend Aspen wins.”
Her parents’ phone rang a fifth and sixth time in her ear, and she focused on leaving a message. Since her father was a voting member of the committee, they probably weren’t even home yet, she realized. Her parents’ answering machine picked up and she felt a childish sense of relief that she could break her news to them electronically, without having to answer their questions just yet. So much for Tommy Lee thinking she was mature.
“This is Elizabeth. I’m not going to be home tonight. Please don’t worry about me. I was involved in a little traffic accident today. But I’m fine. I’ll call first thing tomorrow and explain where I am and why—it’s kind of complicated. Just don’t let the judge get upset. The number where I’m staying is—”
“Elizabeth? Are you okay?”
The male voice breaking in on her phone call was softly Southern and very concerned. Those words from an unidentified stranger inside her parents’ home shocked her and she gasped. It wasn’t the judge’s booming tone, and for a moment Elizabeth couldn’t imagine who could be answering their phone. “Mr. Willow?”
“Yes, hello, Elizabeth,” he stammered. “I was staying up at the main house till your folks got in tonight. Picked up when I heard your voice. I’m sorry to intrude on your private call, but I just had to be sure you were safe, that you were okay.”
Clay Willow was the handyman who had shown up and offered his services to the Monettes within a few weeks of their return to Fairbreeze. Her father had hired him to help him as a caretaker, and over time, the judge had grown to depend on him more and more for errands, drives into Belle Fleur and, Elizabeth thought, companionship. Her mother and father had a very loving, but very traditional relationship, with somewhat separate private lives.