"Sarah Booth, dahling, don't run away from me." Cece kept coming. Behind her was Teko, his gaze riveted on Michael.
"Cece, run!" I yelled as I pushed backwards, hoping to throw Michael off balance. He stumbled, but quickly regained his footing. "Cece!" I slammed into Michael's arm, pushing the gun to the side. A wild shot rang out and people began to scream and panic.
To my utter amazement, Cece dove at my knees, bringing me down hard. It was a tackle that would have earned her respect on any professional team. We both hit the pavement and rolled. I heard Michael's howl of pain, and the gun skittered toward me. I was about to grab it when a petite, manicured hand picked it up.
I looked up from the pavement to see Tinkie aiming the weapon at Michael.
"Don't even breathe," she said, her voice and hand steady.
Michael was holding his left forearm in his right hand just above the handle of a large knife. Only a few feet away, Teko stood with his feet spread, ready to pounce.
"Come on, man," Teko said, crouching a little lower. "I'll take you down!"
"Not necessary," LeMont said, stepping out of the crowd and grabbing Michael. "I'll take it from here." He called a uniformed officer over. "Get an ambulance," he said. "Get his arm stitched and then take him to the station."
Tinkie handed Doreen a glass of bourbon as she huddled on her patio. LeMont sat just beyond the reach of the soft lighting, his face in shadows. We'd left Cece to handle the crowd at Jackson Square. She said she knew all the words to "Kumbaya."
"Drink a little," Tinkie urged Doreen. "You're shaking." She glanced at me. "You aren't shaking, Sarah Booth, but I don't have to urge you to drink."
"Tell me everything you know," Doreen said, taking the glass and straightening her posture. "I have to understand why my brother hated me so much." Her voice had begun to break, but she kept talking. "My brother and the father of my child."
"Oh, Doreen," Tinkie said, rubbing her shoulders. "You didn't know. You couldn't have known."
"But he did," Doreen said. When she lifted her face, she looked puzzled. "Why did he hate me so much?"
"He hated Lillith and everyone related to her, including himself," Tinkie said gently. "He didn't really know you."
"But Michael had an alibi for that night," Doreen said. "He was with Trina."
"We believe both you and Ms. Zebrowski were drugged," LeMont said.
"Why didn't he just kill me when he killed Rebekah?" Doreen asked.
I did know the answer to that. "Because he wanted to destroy your ministry. By killing Rebekah, and having you convicted of her murder, he thought he could show your followers that you were a false prophet. He wanted to destroy your ministry before he killed you."
"So much hatred," Doreen said, her voice still shaking.
"It's a good thing that Teko kid was there," Tinkie said. "I've never seen someone throw a knife like that."
"It wasn't just coincidence," Doreen said softly. "All things happen for a reason."
The sound of the patio door creaking open made all of us freeze. I half-expected to see Cece arrive, but it wasn't my tall, elegant friend. The latest arrival was short and wearing a nun's habit.
"Sister Mary Magdalen," Doreen said, rising. She went to the nun and hugged her.
"I came as soon as I heard," the sister said. "I'm so sorry, Doreen."
As if on cue, Tinkie, LeMont, and I rose. It was time to go. Sister Mary Magdalen might be able to offer the comfort we didn't know how to give.
"I HAVE TO patch things up with Oscar," Tinkie said as the elevator stopped on our floor. "I can't go on like this."
"Good luck," I said, hugging her. "I'm going to bed. I'm so tired I can hardly stand up."
Tinkie grasped my hand. "Did you ever think it was Michael?" she asked.
I thought about it. "I should have, I guess. But I never would have thought Rebekah's father and Doreen's brother were one and the same."
"Me, neither," she said. "When are you going home?"
"I'm picking Hamilton up at the airport at ten." I couldn't suppress my smile. "Then we're going away for a few days."
"And Cece said you were going to screw this up," Tinkie said, squeezing my hand. "I never lost faith in you."
35
By eight o'clock the next morning, I'd determined that I needed to go shopping. Everything I'd brought from home was dirty. I'd been forced to wear an incredibly risque thong and matching push-up bra under my black jeans and a green sweater.
I was short on clean clothes, but I'd awakened refreshed and eager for the day. Hamilton was coming back. In fact, he should already be on his plane, taking off from Dulles.
I repacked all of my things, which consisted of throwing them helter-skelter into the suitcase, settled my bill via the television checkout, and then scratched a hurried note asking Tinkie to make sure Kiley checked out of the Hilton, since she was living the good life on my credit card.
At eight-thirty, I placed a call to Doreen. Sister Mary Magdalen answered. Doreen was asleep.
"Doreen and I will be in Zinnia in a few days," the nun said. "I need to settle the bill, and Doreen wants to visit her mother's grave."
"Is Doreen really okay?" I asked.
"She is," Sister Mary Magdalen said. "As hard as it is to see sometimes, we both know that all things happen for a reason."
"Does she really believe that?" I asked.
"She does," the sister said. "And so do I."
I was thinking about faith—Doreen's in a Divine plan and Tinkie's in me—when the telephone rang.
"Hello," I said, eager to hear Hamilton's voice.
"Ms. Delaney?"
The male caller's voice was somewhat familiar, but I couldn't place it. "Yes?"
"It's Dewayne Dattilo."
"Has something happened to Sweetie Pie?" She had only a few more days in detention.
"The hound is perfectly fine," Dewayne said. "It's... well, the sheriff said I shouldn't call you, but I felt like I had to do it."
"What's wrong?"
"Mrs. Peters is asking to talk to you."
"Connie wants to talk to me?" I sat down on the bed. "Why?"
"She said she'd go into psychiatric treatment if you'd talk to her. Sheriff Peters said no one was to call you, but I just thought if you could really talk her into getting some help, we could put an end to all of this. It's taking a heavy toll on the sheriff."
I closed my eyes. "Where is Coleman?"
"He's at the hospital with her." There was a pause. "He said he'd skin anybody who called you. I was hoping you wouldn't have to tell him it was me."
"Thanks, Dewayne. You did the right thing." The hand holding the phone had begun to sweat.
"Are you coming?"
I straightened my back. "Yes. I'm on the way right now."
After replacing the phone, I tore up the note I'd written Tinkie and wrote a new one, asking her to meet Hamilton's plane and explain that I'd gone home to Zinnia. If Tinkie retrieved him from the airport she would still have time to make her doctor's appointment. As I slipped out of my room with my bags, I slid the note under Tinkie's door. I'd call her from the car when I was out of town.
Sure, it was cowardly. So much for her faith in me. Besides, I didn't need Tinkie to tell me what I was leaving behind. I'd have a nice, long drive to think of Hamilton and what I was walking away from. In going to Zinnia, I had made my choice. I would never be able to convince Hamilton or myself otherwise.
Did I love Coleman more? I couldn't answer that. But I'd known him longer. He was part of my life. Maybe I didn't have the courage to live a fantasy. Maybe it was just that fantasies should never have a chance to become reality. I didn't have any answers. I only had regret for what couldn't be.
The blinds were drawn in Connie's room and I stepped into the semi-dusk, giving my eyes time to adjust. Two vases of flowers brightened the otherwise bleak room.
"So you came."
I stepped closer to the bed, trying not to show the shock
I felt. Connie was thin, but she had on make-up and her hair had been washed and styled. I'd expected Olivia de Havilland in The Snake Pit and I'd gotten Farrah Fawcett in a hospital bed.
"I hear you want to talk." I wanted this conversation over with. I had the distinct feeling I'd been played.
"Does Coleman know you're here?" she asked.
"No. One of the deputies called me."
Her top lip curled. "I knew he wouldn't ask you to get involved in this. He wants to act like you're not to blame for what's happened to us."
It would do no good to deny it. "The deputy said you'd agree to psychiatric treatment if I came to talk to you."
"And you trusted the word of a crazy woman?"
I'd just seen crazy down in New Orleans. Connie wasn't even a pale shade of the real thing. "Look, Connie, I walked out on a lot of important things. Are you going to honor your word?"
"I just wanted to see if you'd come. That tells me plenty about how deep you're in this with my husband." Bright spots of anger burned on her cheeks. "That woman in New Orleans said that your relationship with my husband wasn't the issue. She said that I had to learn to love and value myself. I figured you paid her to tell me all that happy horseshit."
"I came because Coleman is my friend. You're destroying him, Connie. You know that."
"Yes," she said. "I do. And I don't think it's punishment enough for a lying cheater. And don't hand me any of that karma crap, either."
"Coleman has never cheated on you," I said, even though I knew I was wasting my breath.
"You mean he's never physically committed adultery."
"That's right. You know that, too. You're falsely accusing Coleman."
"Oh, I don't think so. There are all kinds of ways to cheat. Coleman thinks about you all the time. He daydreams the things he'd like to do to you." She raised up on her elbows and I could see the bony points of her shoulders. I'd never really believed that a person could be too thin, but Connie was living proof that it could happen.
"Coleman is married to you. He made a decision to stay with you, if you'd let him. You're pushing him away, Connie, and you're destroying yourself in the bargain."
"As if you cared what happened to me," she said.
"I don't care what happens to you. It would suit me just fine if you evaporated. But Coleman cares about his baby." I looked at her body and wondered how much damage she'd already done to the fetus. Malnutrition could have severe consequences.
"Yes, Coleman cares about the baby. To him, I'm an expendable host." Her eyes narrowed. "I hate this baby."
"Connie, are you going to talk to a psychiatrist?" I kept my voice level, but her potential for self-destruction was scaring me.
"On one condition."
"What's that?"
"You give me your word that you won't see Coleman."
"You have my word. I haven't been seeing him."
"Liar! I know about the cozy cookout you two had."
She was well informed for a woman who'd barricaded herself in a house. Then again, it was Zinnia. The grapevine was always in full bloom when it came to gossip.
"We had burgers. We talked. There's no harm in what we did."
"I want your word it won't happen again."
The fact that Connie was trying to blackmail me irked me to the max. "You have my word that Coleman and I won't carry on a romantic relationship. That's as good as it gets."
She leaned back in the bed. "That's not good enough." She pressed the call button and a nurse entered the room almost immediately.
"I'm checking out," Connie said. "Bring me whatever papers I need to sign." The nurse hustled out of the room, making a beeline for a telephone, no doubt.
"Good luck, Connie," I said. "I hope you wake up before you destroy everything you claim you care about." I stepped out of the room and into Coleman's arms.
He pulled me against his chest and held me so tightly I almost couldn't breathe. "I didn't want you involved in this," he said into my hair.
I didn't answer. The feel of his arms was too safe, too necessary. I simply closed my eyes and let myself have him for a few seconds.
There was the sound of a clearing throat and I opened my eyes to see Doc Sawyer standing beside us. Coleman and I stepped apart.
"What are you going to do?" Doc asked. He studiously avoided meeting my gaze.
"Bring me the papers. I'll have her institutionalized," Coleman said.
"Coleman," I touched his arm. "She isn't crazy."
"I don't care to put a label on what she is, Sarah Booth. All I know is that she's endangering herself and my baby. I can't let it go on. If they have to put her in a straitjacket and force-feed her, then that's how it's going to be. Once the baby is born, she can kill herself, if that's her choice."
Doc sighed. "I'll get the papers," he said, "but you realize this is only temporary. She can fight this if she chooses."
"Doc, do you think this is the right thing to do?" I asked.
He looked from Coleman back to me. "I don't have a clue what's right or fair in this world, Sarah Booth. I do know that Connie's a danger to herself and her baby. Does she have that right? Maybe. Maybe not. I do know this has to end. I'll get the paperwork." He walked down the hospital corridor, his shoes soundless.
Coleman and I were left facing each other. All I wanted was to walk back into his arms, to have him hold me. But I couldn't. There was something in his eyes that warned me to keep my distance. I was about to be hurt.
"I'm taking Connie to a private clinic in Arizona. I think it would be best to get her away from here completely. I'm stepping down as sheriff so I can spend the next five months with her, until the baby comes."
"And after that?" I asked, my chest hurting so badly I could hardly breathe.
"I don't know."
I nodded.
He touched my cheek, then turned and followed Doc down the corridor.
36
A COLD FRONT WAS MOVING IN OUT OF LOUISIANA, AND I SAT ON the front porch steps with Sweetie Pie between my feet and a tall Jack at my side. I'd gotten my dog out of hock after a personal visit to Mrs. Hedgepeth. After our brief conversation, she'd decided that maybe it wasn't Sweetie Pie who'd bitten her.
Now I leaned forward and stroked Sweetie's long, silky ears. The bitter wind scattered the leaves on the sycamore trees and traced icy fingers down my face and neck. I liked the cold. It numbed me.
Coleman was gone. Gordon Walters had taken over the sheriff's office on an appointed basis. The county was ablaze with gossip.
A lot of folks were talking about me, but neither Tinkie nor Cece were speaking to me. My last conversation with Tinkie had been when she'd called me from the New Orleans airport to tell me about the look on Hamilton's face when I'd failed to meet him. Since then, both Tinkie and Cece had studiously ignored me. I'd heard rumors, via Millie, that something big was in the works with Cece. But I'd spent the last three days basically alone. Except for my most reliable friend, Jack Daniel's.
"You know what followed the days of the flapper, don't you?"
I looked over my shoulder to see Jitty dressed in shapeless, somber, knee-length black. A cloche hat was pulled tight on her head, shadowing her eyes.
"Let's see, after the flapper came the Great Depression," I said without enthusiasm.
"That's right, Sarah Booth. I'd say that's exactly where you are."
She was right. Yeah! All of my friends and my ghost were right and I was wrong. I'd lost on all fronts. Hamilton had never even left the New Orleans airport when I didn't show up. He'd booked a flight for Paris and flew out two hours later.
I'd tried six times to call him, but he wasn't taking my calls. I didn't blame him. In fact, I admired him. He made a decision and stuck with it, unlike me.
Jitty took a seat beside me. "You can get him back, you know."
"Which one?"
She shook her head. "That's the problem, Sarah Booth. That's why you're sittin' here all alone. You hadn't really made up your
mind. That's the worst insult you can hand a person."
"Let me ask you something, Jitty. What would you have done if I'd gone to Paris and married Hamilton?"
She gazed out at the beautiful white trunks of the sycamores. "I don't know," she said. "I've spent my entire existence here at Dahlia House. This is home to me."
"And to me, too," I said. "Paris was a dream, a fantasy. This is real. This house, the people around me. My dog and my horse."
"Sarah Booth, you know as well as I do that you can build a reality wherever you go."
She spoke with kindness, and I smiled at her. "New York was a dream. I had a fantasy of working on Broadway. The reality was something very different."
"You can build whatever reality you want, anywhere you choose," she said. "Never doubt that. You just have to have faith."
Faith. It was a word that had begun to constantly recur in my life. I thought of Doreen. All charges against her had been dropped. Adam Crenshaw, alias Michael Anderson, was in jail on one count of murder, and the police were investigating the deaths of Joshua Crenshaw and Lillith Lucas.
"How do you tell the difference between illusion and delusion, between faith and fantasy?" I asked. Certainly the line had blurred for Adam. Blurred so badly that he'd killed his own children and his mother.
"That's a tricky one, Sarah Booth." She leaned over to whisper in my ear. "You shouldn't ask an illusion such things."
"I need a better answer than that."
"You don't need me to tell you," she said. "You already know."
"Cop-out," I accused.
"You have to trust yourself to know the difference." Jitty started to shimmer, a sure sign that she was making one of her famous getaways.
"Don't go! Which was the illusion, Hamilton or Coleman?"
The shimmer swept through her, highlighting her chocolate eyes. "Whichever one you had chosen," she said. "That would have been your reality."
She was gone. I sipped my drink and felt Sweetie Pie begin to wiggle. She was doing her company's-a-comin' hound-dog dance. Looking down the drive, I didn't recognize the car that came toward me at breakneck speed, scattering dead leaves behind it like a small tornado. It was silver, sleek, and expensive-looking. For a moment my heart flipped. It was exactly the kind of car Hamilton might drive.
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