Coleman pulled the patrol car in behind me and got out. He was wearing sunglasses that concealed his eyes. I watched him approach in my rearview mirror. If my stomach was knotted before, now it was snarled.
"Sarah Booth," he said as he put his hands on the window. "And Sweetie Pie. A lovely duo out for a drive?"
"How are you, Coleman?" I reached up and removed the sunglasses.
"I've been better."
No kidding, I thought. He looked like he hadn't slept in five years.
"The case is a mess," I admitted. "I came home to get a dress fitted."
He laughed out loud, and I felt a smile tug at my mouth. It was good to hear him laugh, even if it was at me. "Appearances are very important to a private investigator. After all, who wants to hire someone who looks tacky?"
He laughed again and leaned down. "I've missed you."
"Don't—"
"I won't lie, Sarah Booth. I have missed you."
"I've missed you, too," I said. "Come by Dahlia House and have a drink. I'll tell you about the case."
15
I POURED US BOTH A DOUBLE JACK AND HANDED COLEMAN A glass. "Are you off duty?" I teased.
"I just clocked myself out," he answered. My fingers brushed his as he took the glass, and I felt a dangerous sensation race through me.
He took the wing chair, leaving me the sofa. I found that as I talked about Doreen and the case, I relaxed. Coleman and I had been friends long before we'd let stronger emotions flare between us. Friendship was the ground we had to rediscover.
"So you honestly believe Doreen is innocent?" He sipped his drink as he waited for my answer.
"Do you think I'm a sucker?"
He shook his head. "There's something about Doreen, a... a gentleness." He paused. "I did a little digging in the records, just to satisfy my own curiosity. Lillith was arrested in 1963 on a charge of public drunkenness. The arresting officer was Coot Henderson."
I remembered Coot. He was a good-looking man with a quick smile who, on occasion, turned his head when he saw an underage teenager driving. "He's living out around Blue Eve, isn't he? He hasn't been a policeman for a long, long time."
"He started drinking. Bad. The county had to let him go." Coleman held up his glass to check the level. "Hell, even Marshal Dillon had a drink every now and again."
"Are you drinking too much?" His color didn't look good.
"Not nearly enough." He shook his head. "Let's talk about your case. I'm not a worthy subject."
I started to protest but felt the ice cracking around my heart. I retreated to my case. "Doreen loved that baby."
"But she couldn't heal her."
"That's not grounds for murder."
"Normally, no. But Doreen is a long way from normal." Coleman's gaze shifted out the window. The sun was setting and the sky was a glowing peach. It was a color that made me think of Tinkie.
"Do you think Doreen can heal people?"
Something in my voice must have given me away. Coleman's gaze zeroed in on me with sudden intensity. "Are you okay? You're not sick, are you?"
Tears gathered in my eyes, and though I tried to will them away, one slipped down my cheek.
"Sarah Booth," he said, sliding from the chair to his knees. He was beside me in a split second. "Are you sick?" His hand hovered over mine but didn't touch me. He knew the danger of the simplest of touches.
I shook my head. "I'm perfectly fine." But the tears, once started, wouldn't stop leaking.
"You don't look fine."
He was on his knees looking up at me, his hands lightly touching my arms. He was way too close. "I'm really okay."
He stood up. "I don't think so. I'm going to call Tinkie right now and ask her what's wrong." He started toward the telephone.
"Coleman, don't call Tinkie."
Something in my voice stopped him. He turned slowly. "It's Tinkie, isn't it? Something's wrong with her."
Coleman was a perceptive man. Now that he had the scent, he wouldn't give up until he knew the answer. "She has a lump."
"My God," Coleman said. "Is it cancer?"
I took a deep breath. "They don't know." Relief softened his face.
"It could be anything," he said. "Lot's of women get lumps and they aren't malignant."
"I know." I inhaled, belatedly remembering that crying made my eyes all red and swollen. Even worse, I needed a tissue. "But what if it's bad? Do you think Doreen can fix it?"
Coleman reached into his pocket and produced a clean white handkerchief. He handed it to me and managed not to watch while I blew my nose. "Don't go borrowing trouble, Sarah Booth."
"Where have I heard that before?" I asked, rolling my eyes.
He rocked back on his heels. "Tinkie's still in New Orleans?"
"She's on the case," I said with a large degree of pride. Tinkie was no quitter. I had excellent taste in partners.
"What does she think about Doreen?"
"She thinks Doreen can heal her."
That stopped Coleman. "Does she believe Doreen's innocent?"
"I guess we both believe it."
"So who killed the baby?"
"My bet is on one of the potential fathers." I filled him in on what I had learned, delighting in his shock and surprise at the names I listed. It was good to bounce my theories off Coleman. Unlike me, he was objective and trained.
"Do you have a favorite?" he asked.
"The senator has the most to lose, but Oren Weaver is running a close second. Michael Anderson could be the father, but so far Tinkie hasn't turned up any financial impropriety that would give him a motive. There's also the maid, Pearline Brewer. She has opportunity and she's been impossible to talk to."
"Keep me posted." Coleman stood up. He put his glass on the sideboard. "I have to get home."
"How is Connie?" I made it sound as sincere as I could.
"She's sick. She finally has a doctor in Jackson, but she won't let me go with her." He shrugged. "She has some prescriptions, and she's taking them." The light went out of his eyes as he talked.
"I'm sorry, Coleman."
He looked into my eyes. "Not nearly as sorry as I am." He picked up his keys from the sideboard and left. I walked to the window and watched as he got in his car, his back straight, his sunglasses hiding whatever he was thinking.
I felt a chill along my back and knew that Jitty was beside me.
"You did the right thing, Sarah Booth. You just took another step into the land of the grown-ups. You're right, I like Coleman. But he has nothing to offer you but empty hope. Heck, that ain't even as good as a delusion."
Dawn was just chasing the night away as I packed the car with clean clothes. I walked to the barn to bid Reveler a sad good-bye, when Kip Fuquar drove up. She was one helluva rider and she'd come to exercise my horse and love on Sweetie Pie, per her mother's promise.
I grinned big as she walked toward me. Sans the six pounds of makeup she'd once worn, she was a beautiful girl. "How's your mama?"
"Fine. She sends her love and said for you to come out and visit."
"I'll stop by later. I have to get back to New Orleans right away." It was Wednesday, and I felt time trickling away from me.
I put words to action and got in the roadster and headed to Zinnia. I had time for a cup of coffee at Millie's before I did anything rash like drive to New Orleans.
It wasn't even six and Millie's was already packed. I wedged myself up to the counter, sipped the coffee that Millie abstractedly poured, and waited. In less than ten minutes she came up behind the counter and let out a long breath. "It's hell during harvest. Every farmer in the county wants a hot breakfast."
I didn't blame them. If I weren't watching my figure, I'd have ordered French toast. "Have you heard anything?"
She shrugged. "Not many people care about a dead baby in New Orleans."
"Do you know much about Coot Henderson?"
"I know he's turned into a drunk. When his girlfriend burned to death in that fire, it chang
ed Coot. He was always a little on the loose side. I mean, he'd drink on duty some, but not falling out drunk. But when—"
"You said his girlfriend?"
"Lillith Lucas." She leaned closer. "Back in the sixties it was a big secret. Lillith and Coot were quite a couple. When Lillith wasn't scaring the wits out of the teenagers about sex, she was doing the wild thing with Coot." She made her eyes big. "You can imagine the kinds of comments that were passed around over that one."
I put my empty coffee cup on the counter. "Thanks, Millie. That could prove to be very important information."
"You're welcome, Sarah Booth. How's the case coming?"
"Better and better," I said. I put a dollar on the counter and told her I had to get on the road.
The top was down and the air a little more than brisk as I headed south. It was going to be a much longer drive without Tinkie to keep me company.
I made the outskirts of Vicksburg before nine o'clock. It was safe to call Tinkie. I dialed the hotel room and held my breath through seven rings.
"Hello."
She sounded awake and chipper. "I'm headed back." I hated to use the cell phone in the roadster. The noise was awful.
"I was in the shower. Sarah Booth, instead of straight to New Orleans, zag over to Jackson and come down by the Mississippi coast."
"Why?" I liked the Mississippi coast, but I had no reason to visit.
"I found Doreen's brother. He lives in Pearl River County. You could swing by there on your way back to New Orleans."
"Sure," I said. I was curious to meet Doreen's sibling. What magical powers might he have?
"The family is J.J. and Janey Crenshaw on Alligator Road in McNeil. Number 2323. Her brother's name is Adam."
"Where'd you get this information?" I asked.
"Sister Magdalen. It seems the good sisters knew more about Doreen than they let on."
"I found out something interesting, too," I told her. "Coot Henderson, the deputy"—I gave her a second to connect the dots—"was romantically involved with Lillith. In 1963."
Although math wasn't my strong suit, I'd added up the time of Lillith's arrest and the birth of her children, and come up with a potential father for Doreen.
"Well, he was a good-looking man," Tinkie said. "I hear he's drinking heavy now."
"One of us should talk to him."
"Maybe Sunday," Tinkie said. "After the ball. And you'd better have a dress, Sarah Booth."
"You can count on me, Tinkie. So what are you doing today?" "I'm going to talk to Doreen. I have some business with her." My throat suddenly grew tight. "Okay. I'll take care of the Crenshaws. I'll call you when I finish."
The Crenshaw home was a modest brick house with a two-car garage. It was old enough to fit well in the large, tree-covered yard. There was a basketball goal, netless, on the garage door. It looked like a good place for a boy to grow up.
I rang the doorbell and was surprised when both J.J. and Janey Crenshaw answered it. They were in their sixties, but life hung hard on them. They wore thick glasses, and they looked at me with both sorrow and dread.
I explained who I was and asked if I could talk to them about Adam. Janey Crenshaw's mouth opened and a long wail of grief issued forth.
"Adam's dead," Mr. Crenshaw said as he put his arm around his wife. "Just come on in," he said as he led Janey to the kitchen. He installed her in a chair, where she leaned forward and wept against the polished oak table.
I stood in the doorway of the kitchen, too shocked to say or do anything. Mr. Crenshaw wet a paper towel under the tap and handed it to his wife. She blotted her face, swallowed a few more sobs, and then looked at me.
"I'm sorry," she said. "It's been four years since Adam died, but it hits me just like it was yesterday when somebody says his name."
"I'm so sorry," I said. They hadn't even asked me what I wanted with him.
"Adam's gone to live with Jesus," Janey said, new tears welling in her eyes. "I know he's in a better place. I just weep for myself. I miss him."
"How did he die?" I was still absorbing the shock. Adam would have been close to my age. That was pretty young to die.
"He drowned. It was a terrible accident," J.J. said. His voice roughened, as if he was fighting tears.
"Why are you looking for Adam?" Janey asked.
"I'm working for his sister. She asked me to find him." It was the truth, as far as it went. I decided against mentioning the inheritance until I spoke with Doreen.
"Adam had a sister?" Janey's eyes lit up. "If she's like him, she must be a wonderful woman. God-fearing, religious. Our Adam never missed a Sunday at the church. He was in the choir, and he spent every Saturday working for the Lord. Well, until he hooked up with Kiley. Why he married that girl I'll never know."
"He was married?" I don't know why I was so surprised. He was plenty old enough to be married.
"She's the one who killed him," Janey said, her mouth hardening. "She took him off to the river with all those worthless friends of hers. They got him to drinking. They got him out in the treacherous current. His death is on her."
J.J. put his hands on Janey's shoulders, a gesture that could have been comforting or restraining. I couldn't tell. "Tell us about his sister," J.J. said. "What's she like?"
"She has an interest in religion, too," I hedged. "She's very pretty."
J.J. nodded. "Adam was handsome, and he turned out to be a good boy. You can tell her that. We got him when he was a toddler. He musta had a hard life before us."
Janey sat up at the table. "The first word he ever spoke to us was the F-word. He just looked right at me and told me to F myself. I was so shocked I sat down and cried."
"But we knew God had sent us to help him," J.J. said. "When the welfare folks told us that he was in a really bad situation at his foster home, we didn't hesitate. We took him right in."
"It took a lot of work, but we got the Devil out of him." Janey sighed.
"The first few years, we had our doubts." J.J.'s voice was shaky. "We weren't sure we could reach him. When he got old enough to read, he took to the Bible. He'd read and study every night. We never really had to lead him there, he just went on his own."
"I got him a little suit with a vest for him to wear to church." Janey's face shone with love. "He was a handsome boy, and he enjoyed looking all cleaned up." Her face darkened. "I never understood what he saw in Kiley. He never seemed to care about the girls at all until she started wagging herself in front of him. She's just white trash."
"I'll be sure and tell his sister all about him." I felt sorry for them, trapped with all the "what might have beens" of a dead son.
"Wait just a minute." Janey got to her feet. "Come with me."
She led the way down a hall to a closed door. She opened it and snapped on a light. "Adam loved Jesus," Janey said, pointing at a poster that took up most of one wall. It was a graphic depiction of the crucifixion. One that made me take an involuntary step backwards. There was a well-worn Bible beside the bed and several other religious pictures on the walls. Other than that, the room was bare. "He understood that God sent his son to save us. We each and every one have a mission. Adam knew his, yet he walked away from it. It cost him his life."
"He had a mission?" I didn't understand.
"Adam was going to be a preacher," Janey said. "When he was ten, he started preaching at the church. He had a real gift. When he turned his back on it for that trashy girl, God called him home."
In the last few days, I'd learned that what people believed shaped their entire lives. The Crenshaws made me uneasy.
"Our Lord suffered mightily for us," Janey continued as she looked around her dead son's room. She didn't seem to notice that all of the pictures showed people in the midst of persecution. "The older Adam got, the more he studied the Bible. He loved the word of God. He could quote whole passages. That was before Kiley."
"And after Kiley?" I couldn't help asking.
"He got a job running wire for the power c
ompany. It paid good, but it wasn't what Adam was called for. He wasn't fulfilling his promise." Janey wiped a tear off her cheek. "He had a God-given talent to preach. Do you think it was a coincidence that his name was Adam?"
I looked around the room. "I don't know," I answered. I didn't know much except that I was more than ready to leave.
16
It was out of my way, but I made a sweep by Pearline's house on my way back to the Quarter. It was a relief to be back in the city, but I hadn't completely left behind the sadness of the Crenshaws. Lillith Lucas had produced two children, both of them obsessed by religion. One was dead and the other was charged with murder. It was a tragic legacy.
When I saw the same old car parked in Pearline's drive, I stopped and walked to the house. I knocked on the front door with no results, so I tucked another business card in the screen.
Back in my car, I tried Tinkie's cell. A recorded message told me the phone wasn't in service. A chill swept over me. Tinkie never turned her cell phone off. Never.
The desk clerk at the Monteleone rang her room, and I left a voice mail for her to call me as soon as she got there. It wasn't like Tinkie to simply disappear.
Since I couldn't find her, I decided to pay a call on the senator. I had a question for him about Pearline's employment. I also wondered if the maid who'd answered the door on my first visit might not be the mysterious and elusive Pearline.
On the way, I telephoned Cece. She was supposed to be in New Orleans any day now, and I wondered if she'd talked to Tinkie.
"Zinnia Dispatch, Cece Dee Falcon speaking."
Cece's voice was rich and deep, with just a hint of boredom. I asked her about Tinkie and discovered her interest was already piqued.
"No, I haven't talked with her, but I ran into Oscar last night. He acted very strange."
"Oscar?" I was intrigued.
"He was at The Club, in the bar. I asked him about Tinkie and he started crying."
"Oscar?" I tried to sound puzzled, but it was fear I felt, not curiosity. I knew why Oscar was upset. The fact that he was crying made my stomach flip. Oscar didn't sweat the small stuff.
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