A One-Woman Man

by ML Gamble

  His words frightened her witless, but she had no right to let her fears silence him. “All right, but then I’ve got a few things to say, too.” And she did. She was going to tell him she loved him. He couldn’t die on her, then; he would feel too guilty.

  “Fine.” Tommy Lee seemed to relax. He closed his eyes and cleared his throat, then met her eyes. “I know Luvey’s dead, and that Petey Connor. I wish I had gotten him before Luvey did. Did deAngelis make it?”

  “He’s expected to, but he’s still in a coma.”

  “What’s Foley’s take on the whole thing?”

  “He thinks Luvey hired those three men to harass me and make me drop out of the contest so Tammy could be Queen.”

  “Connor’s the son-of-a-dog that shot me,” Tommy Lee rasped. “Did Foley tell you that?”

  “Yes, and he said he wished he’d gotten him before Luvey did, too.”

  Tommy Lee’s mouth contorted like he wanted to smile, but couldn’t.

  Elizabeth knew he was fading into sleep, so she kept talking. “The chief thinks Jackson and his guys pressured Luvey for more money after they screwed up at the hospital with me, so she arranged to meet them but panicked and shot them. Petey Connor got away, broke into her house and killed her.”

  “It doesn’t make much sense, though,” Tommy Lee said in a remarkably lucid voice. “He shot deAngelis, Luvey shot him, he shot her, then whacked me over the head with a shotgun before falling dead downstairs?”

  “I don’t think they have it all worked out yet, Tommy Lee. Especially since I’m sure he was lying by the sofa right after I heard the shots. I don’t see how he could have gotten downstairs and across the room before I came in through the French doors.”

  “Why does Chief Foley think Luvey called me then?” Tommy Lee squeaked. His eyes were closing, but he seemed to be listening.

  “He thinks she made up the story about deAngelis being blackmailed to get you over to her house and find out what we knew about Emmett Peach. Frank feels Luvey got deAngelis to name Tammy the winner, but she had to be sure you were not on to her about the other stuff before she could relax.”

  “Did they find the gun?”

  “Yes. They found the gun that shot them both upstairs under Luvey’s body. There were three guns recovered in all.” Elizabeth shuddered, the remembered scene surreal.

  “All that murder just so her little sister could be Queen. I don’t believe it, Elizabeth. Even if she did all that, why did she kill Peach and Lucille Thompkins?” His voice was weaker, but determined.

  “Foley found out Lucille had worked under Luvey’s direction in the volunteer program for a couple of years. They think she recruited her to find out information on me when Luvey heard a rumor that Dottie was looking into my adoption. Probably thought she could blackmail me into backing out to protect the judge and Miss Lou. She didn’t know I couldn’t care less about winning. But she never got far enough along in her scheme to do that.”

  He struggled to open his eyes. “This doesn’t fly, Elizabeth. Does Foley know about the gun—that it killed your mother twenty years ago?”

  “Yes, I told him to go to your sister’s office and get the fax from your friend in New Orleans.”

  His eyes rolled open. “Does he think Luvey killed your mother? What was she—ten years old at the time?”

  “He thinks it’s a coincidence that the gun was used in both cases. Feels Luvey probably bought the gun from a pawnshop, or got it from Cracker Jackson. That the person who murdered my mother sold it and it sat around. He said guns sit for years around here. And there’s no telling when she bought it.”

  He sighed and squeezed her hand tightly. “That’s bull.”

  “I think it is, too. But for now, let’s leave it there.”

  He closed his eyes again. Despite gaping doubts that the cops had solved the case, he felt pretty sure that Elizabeth was out of danger for now—reassured enough that he could go through with the operation. “Okay, enough cops and robbers. I want to tell you something about how I feel, Elizabeth.”

  “About what?” she whispered, moving closer to him, gently brushing his hair off his forehead.

  “About us. I want you to know I don’t think you have made any kind of commitment to me.”

  Stunned, she drew her hand away and met his gaze. “I—I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I don’t want you to think I’m expecting anything from you, Elizabeth.” He was fighting to order his thoughts, but the fuzziness in his brain was drizzling down to his mouth. But he had to tell her, before he went into surgery, how he felt. She had suffered enough loss and trauma in her life. He didn’t want to leave her with regrets if he died. His soul would never rest.

  But he wasn’t a saint. He loved this woman, and he wanted her to know it. He didn’t want to leave her; he wanted them to have a life together. Despite the crossroads he found himself at, he wasn’t going to be so noble as to not tell her the truth about how he felt while he had the chance.

  “Elizabeth,” he whispered, fighting against the blackness calling to him.

  Despite her aching heart, Elizabeth put her lips on his cheek and kissed him, kissed his mouth, her warm tears dripping onto the gauze mask. “Don’t talk. Rest, darling. You’re going to be fine, Tommy Lee.”

  “I don’t…” He took a deep breath, knowing he was blacking out. He had to tell her those two things. Not to leave. And that he loved her. “I don’t, I don’t—” he began again, then managed two more words “—love you.”

  Elizabeth covered her mouth with one hand and stared at Tommy Lee. She watched silently as his breathing deepened and the tension in his fingers slackened. Gently she laid his hand on the bed. He was sleeping peacefully, like a man who had unburdened his soul.

  A sob rose in her chest and she turned and ran from the room, down the hallway, away from the judge and Miss Lou and Chief Foley, out the door into a gray, stinging rain. She knew it was impossible, but thought she felt her heart breaking into a million pieces, like a fairy-tale slipper in a little girl’s dream.

  THE EMERGENCY MEETING of the Queen of Midnight Committee was being held at Bennett and India Heywood’s home.

  Despite the fact that it was a week before Christmas, no one seemed full of holiday cheer. Most of the women assembled in India’s den wore black and very sedate jewelry. The men were in dark suits and ties, except for Paris Prince, whose tie sported loonylooking reindeer cavorting with red-suited elves.

  He, as first alternate to the committee, was taking the place of Philip deAngelis, who lay in a coma in a private hospital in Baton Rouge.

  In a highly irregular move, but necessary in the minds of the nine committee members, eight of the electees and their dates were also present in the Heywood mansion. After all, Paris Prince had argued in a closed, members-only meeting that morning at the Monettes’, since the girls had invested so much time in the event, they should be part of the decision to cancel or postpone it.

  “Attention, please,” Dr. Heywood called out to the group assembled in his ornate, 19th-century ballroom. His voice echoed off the polished mirrors. “As we all know, Philip deAngelis is not with us tonight, but our hearts and best wishes are with him. I’ve talked with his son, Paul, and with Philip’s doctors in Baton Rouge, and I’m confident that he will make a full recovery. However, we are all well aware of the enormous amount of negative publicity, as well as the tragic circumstances surrounding the death of Luvey Rose. Tammy has gone into seclusion with family in Mobile, and has told me personally that she will not be participating in the Pageant.”

  A low hum of whispered exchanges vibrated through the room. Elizabeth sat staring straight ahead, feeling nothing. She had been like this for a week. But it was better than the bone-rattling pain she had endured the day Tommy Lee had revealed his feelings, or rather, his lack of feelings, to her in the hospital.

  Despite his rejection of her, she had kept tabs on him and knew he had pulled through completely. She had sent a c
ard, with a short note, care of Dr. Smiths. It had taken her hours to write and rewrite it. It had sounded formal and cold, but she had sent it. “I can’t tell you how glad I am you are recovering, or how relieved I am that all this is over,” she had written. “Please bill me for your services. I am no longer interested in finding out more about the past.”

  He had called three times this week, but she had no intention of speaking to him. She didn’t want a casual relationship with the man. She would not have been able to bear it.

  Elizabeth had settled on letting her ego rule the day. She didn’t want him to think her pathetic, or needy. Even though she loved him and cried in her room nightly, as inconsolable as a schoolgirl. Even though she knew she would never be able to shake the gloom or the pain of losing him from her life.

  Forcing herself to pay attention, Elizabeth blinked several times and listened as Dr. Heywood droned on.

  “Under the circumstances,” he continued, “I’m sure we would all agree that Tammy has made the right choice. Therefore, on behalf of the planning subcommittee, I would like to make some recommendations on how to proceed. We will then have a short period of discussion, then the full committee will retire and vote on the final decision on staging our Pageant this year.”

  He beckoned India to the front of the room. “In the service of expediency, my dear wife, India, will sum up the position for keeping to our original plans. India.”

  “Thank you, Bennett.” India nodded. Her navy blue silk taffeta dress rustled, and her ever-present pearls gleamed in the glow of the room’s twin chandeliers. “Ladies and gentlemen, I propose that we continue our Pageant as originally scheduled, on the same day, in the same place. We should not let these hoodlums or the sordid scandals of certain individuals sway us from our course of traditional celebration of Farquier County’s crowning glory.”

  Elizabeth felt India’s eyes resting on her. She began to blush, but did not turn her eyes away from the woman’s steely gaze. She had thought her a murderer a few days ago, and though it was another woman who had committed the crimes, Elizabeth remained convinced that India Heywood was unbalanced. Her speech tonight proved it.

  “Thank you, ladies and gentlemen.” India stepped to the left of Dr. Bennett and the murmur of conversation notched up a degree.

  “That woman’s a shark,” the judge said to Miss Lou, loudly enough for Elizabeth and several others to hear.

  “Shhh, Baylor. Let’s hear everyone out.”

  “We should throw her out, uppity old hag,” he replied. “Like she has any business looking down on someone because of a family scandal.”

  Elizabeth exchanged a look with Miss Lou, who rolled her eyes. But Elizabeth was glad the judge was no more cowed by India’s dig at the Monette household than Miss Lou was.

  The next speaker was Paris Prince. The diminutive mayor, his own brush with the law pretty much forgotten in the wake of the current dramatic events, bowed to the assembled group. “I just want to offer an alternative to our little group. I, and I think many others, feel that it’s unseemly for us to have our usual big shebang, what with Philip lying in a coma and poor Luvey gone to her Maker. I would suggest we present a news release to the Press Register and hold a small dinner party for the girls, then postpone all the hoopla until next year.”

  “And what about the electees?” India interrupted, ignoring Bennett’s hand on her arm. “Are you suggesting we freeze the contest and renominate the same group?”

  Paris frowned and ran his skinny hands through his hair. “No, no, I don’t think we can do that. We have a whole new group of young ladies coming up.”

  “But what about the girl who should be Queen this year?” India demanded, taking two steps toward Paris, then turning to her guests. “Shouldn’t the girl who won as Queen get her rightful chance at glory?”

  “But we’ll have to hold another election!” Paris argued back. “Unless Philip wakes up in the next six days—which isn’t likely—no one knows who won.”

  “He wrote the Queen’s name down and it’s locked in the chest, Mayor. Everyone knows that—”

  “As does everyone know it’s not official until the Caretaker certifies it on New Year’s Eve!”

  “Well, everyone should just vote the same way as before,” India countered. “Then the outcome will be the same.”

  “But what if Tammy won?” a voice from the crowd questioned.

  The mayor wagged a finger at the elderly man who had interrupted the proceedings. “Now, you all just keep quiet. No one knows who won, and swearing folks to vote the same way might work. But I think it would be best if we just didn’t have a Queen this year.”

  “That’s unacceptable,” India retorted, but Bennett grabbed her arm and whispered furiously to her. Rosellen was sitting in the front row of chairs, and Elizabeth felt a pang of sympathy for the young woman.

  The poor girl looked sick over the spectacle India was making of herself. Elizabeth had heard that her boyfriend, Paul deAngelis, had left Belle Fleur for good to care for his father and return to school. It was also common knowledge that Philip deAngelis was not the only member of the deAngelis household to have had an affair with the dead redhead.

  The old saying, “You can’t choose your relatives,” flashed through Elizabeth’s mind. It was true, she realized. She glanced over at the judge and Miss Lou. They sat, shoulders touching, holding hands. No one could have chosen better parents.

  No one should have tried, a voice inside her head chided.

  Elizabeth sat up straighter. The urge to find out the name of her biological father had faded to a dull question in the depths of her heart It didn’t seem to matter who he was now, even though she, like Tommy Lee, was not convinced Luvey Rose had orchestrated the terrible tragedies that had consumed the gossips throughout the entire state for the past few days.

  Yesterday she had pursued the investigation, checking out yearbooks at the library, finding a picture of Marylynn Gibbs in her high-school yearbook. So she could go to the library if she ever wanted a look at her biological mother.

  Elizabeth frowned, aware of the heated arguments going on all around her but not really caring what the outcome would be. She rose and walked to the back of the room for a glass of punch. Paris Prince came up behind her, his monkey-like hand patting her on the arm. “Darling girl, how are you holding up?”

  “I’m pretty good, Mayor. Thank you.”

  “I am so glad to hear that. It was such a terrible, terrible shock to me. I mean, I was right next door, asleep, when poor little Luvey died.” Tears sprang to the mayor’s eyes and he dabbed them with the end of his tie. “You know, I thought I heard a gunshot earlier that night, and someone running. I couldn’t believe it, though. I looked out the window, but saw only the newspaper lying there. To think I might have seen the horrible man who killed all these good folks…”

  Elizabeth sighed and looked beyond the mayor. She didn’t know what, but something was wrong with the growing public opinion that this murder case was closed. Maybe she’d better call Chief Foley and make sure he knew that Paris Prince had heard someone running past his house, toward the Heywoods? It might be important Elizabeth spotted Miss Lou and the judge exiting the door at the other end of the ballroom. “Excuse me, Mr. Mayor, but my mother is calling to me. I’ll see you later.”

  “Of course, darling. Of course. But there’s one more thing I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.” He grasped Elizabeth’s arm. “I don’t mean to be a gossip, but I’ve heard about you discovering who your mama was. I just wanted to tell you not to pay any mind to anyone who says she wasn’t a fine woman. I knew Marylynn when her mama Elaine worked for old Emmett Peach. I was his clerk, and she and I were good friends after her daddy, your grandpappy, got himself killed.”

  Goose bumps rose up and down Elizabeth’s arm and her mouth fell open. “You knew Marylynn Gibbs?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I did. And she was a beautiful, smart little girl. Suffered over not having a daddy after t
hat terrible shooting, but a real spunky little thing. I think, if she would have lived, that you would have been real happy to call her Mama, Elizabeth.”

  Inside her head she heard a woman scream, shots, and crying, but she pushed them away and grabbed Paris’s arm. “Do you know who my father was?”

  A look of fear passed over his eyes. He moved his lips as if to speak, but then pursed them together. He was staring at the assembled group in the room, and seemed to exchange a glance with someone.

  Elizabeth looked over her shoulder. India, Rosellen and Bennett Heywood were standing three feet away from them. They all stared at her impassively, though India seemed agitated.

  “We need you in the study, Paris,” India said in a silky voice. “Right now. Elizabeth, dear, why don’t you go inside and get something to eat with Rosellen. Both of you girls are going to be skin and bones inside your ball gowns if you’re not careful.”

  Paris bowed his head to India. “Of course. I’ll see you later, Elizabeth. Don’t you worry about the Pageant. We old folks will fix things up.” He walked off with the senior Heywoods while Elizabeth and Rosellen watched.

  “Go on in without me,” Elizabeth said to Rosellen. “I really don’t feel like eating.”

  “Suit yourself,” the young woman answered, then walked off as if in a trance.

  Elizabeth remembered snatches of gossip she’d heard that Rosellen took a few too many prescription sedatives because of her nerves, but she was feeling too excited by what Paris had said to dwell on it.

  For two long moments she stood thinking, staring into space. Then suddenly a memory so clear, so irrefutable, materialized inside her head that she gasped. She saw her father, dressed in a doctor’s white coat, leaning over her bed to kiss her good-night. He had a slim face, and blue eyes. He was very tall and had a tiny mole just below his right eye.

  It was the face of a young Bennett Heywood.

  Elizabeth covered her mouth with her hand and blinked several times to keep from fainting. Forcing herself to breathe deeply, she looked around the room. She had to get to a phone, she decided. Rejection or not, she needed to talk to someone. Someone who could give her a no-bull opinion on what she should do next.