by ML Gamble
Tommy Lee leaned back in his chair and crossed one boot-clad leg over the other. “I wasn’t ‘personally acquainted’ with those two chumps that got themselves killed night before last, nor did I know Mr. Peach. I stopped by to see him yesterday about a business matter, which is also the first time I laid eyes on Miss Thompkins. I’d say it’s coincidence. Case closed.”
The chief laughed a mirthless chuckle and pointed his finger at Tommy Lee. “I’ll say case closed, Tommy Lee, if and when that be the case. Now what kinda business did you have with a man who’d been retired from his profession for fifteen years?”
Tommy Lee didn’t look at Elizabeth, but he felt her tense in the chair beside him. “I can’t discuss that.”
Foley stared at him, his face blotchy with anger. “Can’t or won’t?”
Tommy Lee shrugged.
The chief turned to Elizabeth. “Can you discuss it, Miss Monette?”
“Mr. McCall is in my employ for a personal matter, Chief. That’s all I want to say, other than I didn’t know those two men who were killed, but the smaller man, Robinson, might have been the person standing across the street when the car tried to run me down.”
“Which you already know about, Chief. So it’s just saying it again.” Tommy Lee slammed his chair down on the floor again and stood. “And all of us are too busy to sit here talking about something we already covered. Miss Monette and I have business to attend to, so if you need any more questions answered, let me know.”
“Sit down, Tommy Lee,” the chief ordered.
Elizabeth sucked in her breath, watching Tommy Lee. He crossed his arms and smiled, but made no move to sit. “I don’t work for you anymore, Frank. So you get a warrant if you want to ask me anything more about Mr. Peach.”
She watched the chief and read several feelings flashing across his narrow face—what looked like regret, anger and frustration, mixed with confusion. Tommy Lee seemed to be able to elicit those things easily from people, she thought.
“Tommy Lee,” Elizabeth began, remembering his conviction that she should tell Chief Foley about the hate mail and the visitor last night, “maybe we should mention…”
His brown eyes silenced her. “Let’s go, Miss Monette.”
She stood, feeling the chief watch her. But even if she didn’t know anything about police matters, she knew enough about Tommy Lee McCall to know this wasn’t the time to get between him and his old boss.
They hurried down the hallway and out to the hospital lobby. Sergeant Bulow was standing with a young woman wearing a badge identifying her as a reporter for the Belle Fleur Press Register. The cop had a plastic bag full of what looked like trash. Elizabeth looked closer and saw they were neatly cut-up pieces of magazine headlines. The letter! Elizabeth thought. But who…?
She whispered to Tommy Lee, “Look at those scraps in the—”
“I see them, darlin’. Don’t say a word. Just keep walking.”
They hit the parking lot and didn’t stop when the young reporter yelled, “Can I have a word with you, Tommy Lee?”
He smiled and waved. “Good to see you, hon. Tell Duval he’s getting fat.” He hoped reference to her brother, the cop who had taken their statements at the accident scene two days ago, would stop her questions. It did.
Elizabeth thought they had escaped when she settled in the cab and Tommy Lee slammed the door of the truck, but before he crossed around the back and got in, the yellow Mercedes pulled in front of them and Mayor Prince bounded out. In the gray daylight his hair looked even more unnaturally red than usual.
Tommy Lee slammed his door and started the engine, but not before Prince stepped up on the pickup’s fender and knocked on Elizabeth’s window.
“Damn his hide,” Tommy Lee started. “Hang on, Elizabeth, I’m going to back up.”
She put her hand on his arm and squeezed. “It’s okay. It’ll be worse if we run.” Elizabeth cranked down the truck window and smiled. “Hey, Mr. Mayor. How are you?”
“Darling girl!” the mayor exclaimed. “The question is, how are you? We’re all just quaking in our boots about your horrible experiences. Hello, Mr. McCall,” he said with a wave. “How’s your sweet sister?”
“Doing as well as can be expected.”
“Bless her heart! Twins, she’s carrying. I hear you are taking on her business. Are you in the employ of our Elizabeth, now? Trying to track down the fiends who have made her return to our fair city such a nightmare?”
“Elizabeth and I are just friends, Mayor. But we really have to be going—”
Prince grasped Elizabeth’s arm. “But what are you doing out here, Elizabeth? Did the police tell you what a horrible thing happened? First those criminals out by the school and now more murder!”
“I don’t think you should be discussing police business with us, Mr. Mayor,” Tommy Lee interrupted, gunning the engine in the hopes the fumes would chase the weaselly city official off the side of his truck. “I’m retired, you might remember,” he added with more bite than he would have liked.
“Of course, you are right, Mr. McCall. How are you feeling, by the way? That bullet staying put, is it?”
“Bullet?” Elizabeth stammered, turning away from Prince to stare at the man next to her.
“It’s fine. Not going anywhere, Mr. Mayor. But we are, so if you’ll step back and let Elizabeth roll up that window before she catches her death, I’d appreciate it.”
“Surely, of course. And I’m glad you are feeling well. You certainly look the picture of health. I was just saying that to your ex, you know. Luvey was bragging on about you a bit, by the way. Don’t quite know how that girl is settling for that old coot she’s seeing now, when she had a nice young turk, like yourself.” The mayor winked at Elizabeth. “But you know some girls. They’ll trade in a hunk for a fat bank account anytime.”
“Goodbye, Mr. Mayor,” Tommy Lee intoned, no goodwill at all left in his voice. Suddenly a new fear bloomed in his mind.
Had his ex-wife something to do with the attacks on Elizabeth? She was ruthless, and had been at the hospital at the same time the phony doctor showed up. But why? She didn’t really care that much whether or not Tammy was named Queen, did she? He pulled on his mustache and nodded at the mayor, “If you’ll just step away, I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“Just one more moment,” the mayor replied, turning his attention back to Elizabeth. “I’ll see you at the Parade of Lights dinner on the river, won’t I? You look absolutely no worse the wear for your accident.” He put his spidery little paw on Elizabeth’s hair, brushing the bangs to the side. “Those stitches don’t even show with your hair brushed over, honey. You’ll be the prettiest thing there.”
“Thank you, Mr. Mayor. Yes, I’ll see you Friday night. Goodbye.” She cranked up the window and he finally stepped off the truck.
Tommy Lee threw the car into Reverse, spraying gravel and rock salt all over the luxury sedan. Elizabeth saw a brief smile on his face when he checked his rearview mirror for the mayor’s reaction, but the two of them had more important things to talk over than his vendetta against Mayor Prince.
She crossed her arms over her chest and stared at Tommy Lee. A tiny little piece of her mind was trying not to think of Tommy Lee in bed with Luvey, and the rest of her was battling the thought of how it had felt to kiss him. “So, why the change of heart about telling the police about the letters?”
“You saw that scrap bag full of cut-up magazines. If they got that from that Thompkins woman’s trash can, which is what I’d bet, then they would be a little too interested in the fact that you got some hate mail she glued together.”
“Why?”
He shifted gears and the truck sped up. “Because they might think you had a reason to kill her.”
Elizabeth threw her head back and laughed. It was such a preposterous conclusion, she couldn’t help it. “Me? Kill two people I don’t even know? Surely you don’t think the chief pictures me a murderess?”
“Mayb
e not.” His next words were clipped and as cold as steel. “But maybe he thinks you hired someone to do it.”
“Oh, my God,” she breathed, overwhelmed by the logic of what Tommy Lee was saying. “Well, then, maybe that’s even more reason to show them the letters. Convince them I’m the target, not the shooter.”
He grinned at her attempt at cop lingo. “I don’t know if that is what he would think. Cops think in straight lines, Elizabeth. Connect-the-dot mentality is the way we work. Frank might think you’re working the sympathy angle to get elected Queen. Besides, do you want to open the whole kettle of fish about your birth mother being killed, and how the deaths of all these people in Belle Fleur might be linked to your looking into who she was?”
Elizabeth swallowed hard. “Do you really think all these deaths are connected to my trying to find out about my identity?”
“What other answer can you come up with? You get letters, someone cuts your brake line, then tries to run you down with a car. All this happens after you start inquiring about your past and my sister made a couple of calls looking into your adoption. Then, when it’s clear you might be elected Queen of Midnight, some nutcase sends a phony doctor after you to do who-knows-what and people start ending up dead. It’s looking to me like there has to be a link in all these events, and unfortunately, the link looks like you.”
“But why?”
“Someone is jealous. Or afraid of having brought the past up. Or both.”
Elizabeth felt cold and hot all at once. She leaned her head against the seat, taking comfort in the hum of the engine. Outside, the day was dreary and damp. No sign of Christmas cheer, only winter’s grim reduction of the landscape to gray and lifeless brown. She closed her eyes as a piece of a dream—or a memory?—took shape inside her head. She saw a doctor—not the man with the dirty fingernails, but another man. A tall man with a kind voice. She couldn’t see his face, but she could hear him. He was reading a fairy tale to her. Cinderella?
Could that kind man be trying to kill her now? Had he killed her mother?
Could he be her biological father?
“No,” she whispered aloud, shutting her eyes against the horror of murder of one parent by another. Her hands trembled and suddenly she wanted to talk about anything but herself. She reached out and touched Tommy Lee’s arm. “So tell me about the bullet.”
He swore under his breath. “That’s ancient history, Elizabeth.”
“Hey, that’s what I’m interested in, remember?” She had the urge to touch his face, but knew it would have been too intrusive, for his eyes were naked of defense.
“Please tell me. I really want to know.”
Grudgingly Tommy Lee began to relate the reason one of Belle Fleur’s finest was retired. It was a gruesome, terrifying story. He did not pretend any heroism. “I didn’t want to die. I was more afraid of dying than of anything I had ever experienced in my life when I hit the asphalt on the garage floor. I saw cigarette butts and oil drips, and thought how much I wanted to see the sky again. When I lost consciousness, I remember praying. Not a prayer with words, just thinking that if there was a God, would He please help me now.
“When I came to, Katie Smiths was standing over me, crying. I’ve known Katie since we were kids in school, and I’d never seen her cry, so it scared me more than I was before. A priest was in the hospital emergency room. It made me so damn mad, I decided to fight a little bit harder. She told me later I had stopped breathing when they tried to remove the bullet, so they left it there.”
“Did they ever catch the man?”
“Not yet.” Tommy Lee blinked, then turned and met her gaze. “But I will.”
Elizabeth sat quietly, then realized she was holding her breath. “So the city made you retire?”
“Right. Your friend Mayor Prince told the chief he didn’t want me to keel over when I was giving out a ticket and scare some citizen to death,” he joked, his voice raw. “But anyway, that’s why I’m baby-sitting Dottie’s business for a while.”
“What are you going to do when she comes back?”
“Maybe I’ll go back to oystering. I don’t know.”
His voice told her he didn’t want to discuss it further. She stared out the window of his truck. They were downtown. The Bonaparte Hotel was in the distance. In a moment they would be near his office. She flashed back to being held in his arms yesterday, and felt her cheeks warm. “Are we going to Dottie’s office?”
“Yeah. I’m going to make a few calls and cash in a couple of favors—try and see if there is any information yet on the gun used to blow away those two guys. Then we need to sit down and talk about where we’re going, here.”
Elizabeth nodded, unwilling to speak. The last thing she wanted to do was repeat yesterday’s faux pas and mistake a remark about their professional relationship for one about something personal. She felt the distance between them expand, and an ache in her stomach she couldn’t explain.
Chapter Ten
Three hours later, Elizabeth and Tommy Lee walked into the lobby of deAngelis & Willis, Attorneys at Law. The pre-Civil War building, built in 1855, was gracious and reeked of old money and current connections.
Visitors to the firm were presented with a tableau of freshly painted crown moldings, harlequin blackand-white marble floors, and a thousand-dollar custom Christmas tree covered with antique ornaments.
Tommy Lee squinted at the purple, silver and black color scheme on the fourteen-foot spruce, then realized they were the Queen of Midnight Committee colors, and he snorted. Damn crap even mucked up the holidays, he thought.
A plaque naming the past and present partners of the firm hung beside the tree, and Tommy Lee noted Dr. Bennett Heywood’s name, along with Mayor Prince’s.
That group really stayed together. Like cops, they liked their own kind. Elizabeth beckoned him to follow her to the elevators. They climbed in and she pressed the button for the fourth floor. “Mr. deAngelis isn’t in, but his secretary said she would be glad to have a chat with me. She recognized my name as one of the electees and couldn’t have been nicer. We’ll see if she has any idea where Mr. Peach’s old files are stored.”
“Being a debutante is finally paying off,” he muttered.
“Yes. Especially since Philip deAngelis is the Caretaker on the Queen of Midnight Committee this year.” She smiled at him, hoping her little piece of gossip would impress him.
It did. The “Caretaker” was the person on the ninemember committee who counted the votes for Queen. Supposedly, he was the only one who knew her identity until the night of the ball. Theoretically, no one was to know who the Caretaker was, as the position was awarded based on a drawing of straws, and kept a secret until New Year’s Eve.
He whistled. “Nice work. How’d you find that out?”
“Miss Lou found out. I think her dressmaker told her.”
“And how did the dressmaker find out?”
Elizabeth shrugged as the elevator doors opened. “Mrs. deAngelis told the dressmaker, on the q.t. But Miss Hattie, that’s the lady who sews, has worked for my mother much longer than for Mrs. deAngelis. Anyway, strip a woman down and come at her with pins and she’ll give up most anything.” She found herself blushing at the double entendre.
“I’ll remember that,” he said softly, taking her arm as they stepped out of the elevator and approached the elegant black woman seated at the reception desk.
In the last couple of hours Elizabeth and Tommy Lee had formulated a cover story to explain why she wanted some old records of Mr. Peach’s. She was going to say she was working on a book for Judge Monette, who had requested she look up some cases of Mr. Peach’s to cite in various chapters. Tommy Lee, as a representative of D. Betts, Investigations, a firm well-known to local lawyers, was her assistant.
To the amazement of both of them, the ruse worked like a charm. Five minutes later they were walking toward the elevator, Elizabeth clutching a note from Beverly Woods, personal assistant to Philip deAngelis, autho
rizing the clerk in the adjacent office building where the “files” were kept to allow them to examine Mr. Peach’s papers.
“You tell Judge Monette Bev Beaulois says hello,” the secretary called from behind them in a cheery voice. “He won’t know me by my married name. Fine man, your daddy.”
“I certainly will, ma’am.” Elizabeth raised her eyebrows at Tommy Lee, a grin of triumph on her face.
Before they could complete their mission, however, the elevator doors opened and a young man stepped out, with India and Rosellen Heywood in tow.
“Elizabeth!” Rosellen said in surprise. “How are you? We were just talking about you.”
“I’m fine, Rosellen. Hello, India.” Elizabeth nodded, noting that India Heywood looked anything but happy to see her. Rosellen, on the other hand, grabbed her by the arm and hugged her, despite the fact that she only knew her from the few social events over the last couple of weeks.
“Dear Elizabeth! My God, we were all so worried about you! Have you recovered from your accident? And Daddy told us that someone attacked you in the hospital! Do you know who it was?”
“No, I—”
“Of course, she doesn’t know him, Rosellen! Goodness,” India interrupted. She stared at Tommy Lee, openly dismayed at his leather jacket and blue jeans.
“Oh, sorry, every one. This is my friend, Tommy Lee McCall. Tommy Lee, this is India Heywood, her daughter Rosellen, and Rosellen’s friend.” Elizabeth smiled. “I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.”
“DeAngelis,” the young man said proudly. “Paul deAngelis. My father is Philip deAngelis. Are you here to see my father professionally, Elizabeth?”
“Ah, I’m—”
“She’s working on a project for her father,” the receptionist suddenly announced from behind them. She had walked up so quietly, Elizabeth hadn’t heard her.