Dark Water

by Sharon Sala

  “Only if you come, too.”

  “For a minute, but only to tuck you in,” Sarah said.

  He grinned. “Did you say—?”

  “Tuck. I said tuck, not—oh, never mind. Behave, or I’ll have Dunn and Bradstreet put you to bed.”

  “Dunn and Farley,” he corrected.

  “Whatever,” she muttered. “Now up!” And she pointed toward the stairs.

  It was just past two in the afternoon when Tony came downstairs. He had showered and changed into dark red sweats and was wearing thick woolly socks instead of shoes. His hair was still damp and sticking together in clumps, as if he’d used his fingers in lieu of a comb. He’d discarded the bandage on his forehead, leaving the wound open to the air. Except for a slight bump, some early bruising and four stitches, he looked as if nothing had happened.

  “I feel great,” he said, as he entered the kitchen. “What smells so good?”

  Sarah looked up from the table where she’d been thumbing through a cookbook.

  “Soup. Want some?”

  “Yes, please,” he said, then followed her to the stove and watched her serve some into a bowl.

  “Wow! What kind of soup is that?” he asked.

  “Aunt Lorett’s cure-all soup.”

  “Do I dare ask?”

  “She always made it at home when any of us were sick or feeling sad.”

  He carried it to the table and took the first bite, rolling his eyes in near ecstasy.

  “Oh, man…this stuff could make her rich. Have you ever talked her into giving you the recipe?”

  “I know the recipe,” Sarah said. “I serve it at the restaurant from time to time.”

  “Smart woman,” Tony said, and buttered a slice of warm French bread that Sarah set before him. “Have you had some?”

  “Yes. I ate a couple of hours ago. Don’t worry about me. Besides, I need to just sit here and watch you.”

  He happily swallowed a mouthful, then asked why.

  “Last night, I thought I’d lost you.”

  Tony put down his spoon and reached for her hand.

  “No,” Sarah said. “I need to say this. Do you know what I was thinking all the way to Portland?”

  He shook his head.

  “That I’d waited too long to tell you the truth.”

  “What truth is that, Sarah Jane?”

  “When I think about it, none of this makes much sense. I mean…we’ve hardly known each other for a week.”

  “No,” Tony said. “I’ve known you all my life.”

  She smiled. “I know, but not as adults. You know what I mean.”

  He shrugged. “History is a great equalizer, honey girl, and we have a lot of history between us. I mean…you knew me when I had nothing, and you still didn’t hate my guts.”

  She grinned shyly. “Oh, I had a monster crush on you then, and you know it.”

  He beamed. “See! All we’ve done is confirm the fact that you had the hots for me.”

  She laughed. “If I had the hots at the age of ten, I wasn’t sure what it meant. But I will say that I used to hide behind the shrubbery when you came to mow and all but held my breath until you got hot enough that you finally took off your shirt.”

  Tony grinned and winked. “Like I said…the hots.”

  “Okay, okay, but let me finish.”

  He nodded and took another spoonful of soup.

  “I owe you much more than my life. In this short space of time, you’ve made me believe in love again, and I would have sworn that wasn’t possible.”

  “It’s easy, baby, because you’re easy to love.”

  “Am I, Silk? Am I really?”

  Tony stopped, leaned across the table and kissed her hard and swift.

  “I want you to promise me something,” he said.

  “Anything.”

  His eyes darkened as his gaze raked her face. “Be careful. I may ask something of you that you don’t want to give.”

  “Never.”

  “Would you leave New Orleans?” he asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Would you live somewhere else?”

  “Depends on where and with whom.”

  He kissed her again. This time softer. This time longer.

  “Remember that,” he whispered, then pulled back and tilted her chin, making her look him straight in the eyes. “About that promise.”

  She waited.

  “Promise that you’ll never doubt me or yourself again.”

  She exhaled softly. “I can do that. Now eat your soup before you say something you might regret.”

  “Never.”

  She held the thought to her heart as he finished his food. If only this mess were over. If only they could really focus on a relationship instead of just staying alive. If only. Then she thought of her aunt’s favorite saying.

  If never got anything done. Maybe it was done.

  As Tony was carrying his dish to the sink, the doorbell rang. Sarah turned, then stopped, knowing that she was no longer allowed to answer the door. Moments later, Lorett came into the kitchen with a scowl on her face.

  “There is a woman at the door who wants to talk to your man.”

  “Who is it?” Tony asked.

  “I didn’t ask her name.”

  “Why not?” Sarah asked.

  “Because there’s an evil in her heart,” Lorett said, and left the room.

  Sixteen

  Laura Hilliard was in the foyer, being detained by one of the armed guards, when Tony entered the hall. She saw the wound on his head, threw her hands up in dismay and started toward him.

  “Tony! Dear God! Then the gossip is true.”

  The guard stepped in front of her, barring her way.

  “It’s okay,” Tony said. “Let her by.”

  Laura pushed past the guard, her indignation showing, and threw herself into Tony’s arms. Sarah arrived just as Laura was wailing over the wound on his head.

  Laura looked over Tony’s shoulder, and the expression on her face took Sarah aback. It was full of anger and hate.

  “It’s all your fault!” Laura cried. “If he hadn’t involved himself with your disgusting—”

  Immediately, Tony took Laura by the shoulders and thrust her back.

  “Watch what you say,” he said softly. “You are an old friend, but it gives you no right to talk about me or my business…and Sarah is my business.”

  Laura’s eyes glittered angrily. “She’s nothing, Silk. I have money. More money than I will ever be able to spend. Remember when we used to talk about what we would do if—”

  “I was a kid, Laura. I was fifteen years old. And you weren’t.”

  Red spots appeared on her cheeks beneath her perfectly applied makeup.

  “So what? You were always older than your years. I was your first, Silk. You loved me then.”

  Sarah wanted to disappear, but leaving then would make it seem as if she was running away, and she had run for the very last time.

  “I loved making love,” Tony said. “But I didn’t know the meaning of the word.”

  Laura sneered and looked at Sarah, and as she did, every year of her age suddenly showed on her face.

  “And you think you do now?”

  Tony stepped in front of Sarah, putting himself between her and the venom of Laura’s behavior.

  “I know that I do,” he said. “I also know that you’ve outstayed your welcome. Maybe it would be better if you left.”

  Laura lifted her chin and smiled, but it wasn’t a pretty smile, nor was it friendly. She looked at Tony and stepped to one side, fixing her gaze on Sarah’s face.

  “It’s too bad,” she drawled, “that—”

  “Don’t finish that thought.”

  They all turned around, suddenly aware that Lorett had overheard the incident.

  Laura glared as Lorett approached, but it lost much of its intensity when she had to crane her neck to look up.

  “You don’t threaten my baby,�
� Lorett said. “Go home before you give voice to the ugliness that is in your heart.”

  Laura took a step back in spite of herself.

  “You can’t tell me what to do,” she said.

  “You got rich on your back…and when you got too old for the men to pay what you wanted, you sold your soul to the devil.”

  All the blood seemed to flow from Laura’s face. She wanted to run but was too stunned to move.

  “You’re lying,” she muttered. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Babies,” Lorett said. “You sold babies.”

  Laura gasped. There was no one still living who knew that.

  “You’re a witch,” she snapped.

  Tony was too stunned to speak, but the truth was there in the fear on Laura’s face.

  “You go now,” Lorett said. “Do not speak my Sarah’s name. Do not even think of her face. If you do, I will know. And you will be sorrier than you can imagine.”

  Laura squeaked. It was the only word that fit the sound coming out of her throat. One moment she was fumbling for her purse, and the next she was gone.

  “Good God!” Tony said, and looked at Lorett in disbelief. “How did you know that?”

  “I saw it in her heart,” Lorett said.

  “You can’t really know what she’s thinking…can you?”

  Lorett smiled. “She doesn’t know that, though…does she?”

  “Well,” Sarah said, “at least that’s one name we can remove from the suspect list.”

  “What do you mean?” Tony said.

  “Now that we know she didn’t rob a bank for her money…figure it out for yourself.”

  “Oh. Right.”

  “Someone else comes,” Lorett said.

  Tony looked at Lorett again, half expecting to see flames coming out of her mouth.

  “How do you know?” he asked.

  She pointed toward the window. “I saw them drive up.”

  Sarah burst into laughter as Tony grinned sheepishly.

  “See what I mean?” she said. “As children, we never knew when she was serious and when she was teasing.”

  Moments later, Maury Overstreet was in the house. He took one look at Lorett and started grinning.

  “Silk, my man…your taste in women gets better and better. Can she cook as good as the other one?”

  “Shut up,” Tony muttered. “You don’t know who you’re messing with.”

  “Haven’t had the pleasure,” he said, and held out his hand to Lorett. “Maury Overstreet, at your service.”

  To their surprise, Lorett not only shook his hand but grinned as she did it.

  “I am Lorett Boudreaux.”

  She said it in the manner of a queen addressing a subject, but Maury took no offense. Instead, he squinted curiously, studying the symmetry of her features and the tilt of her head atop a long, elegant neck. The jade-green sweater she was wearing was the perfect foil for the black silk pants that covered her extremely long legs. She wore her hair naturally, letting it fall in thick, heavy ringlets about her face and then to the top of her shoulders, using two ivory combs for decoration.

  “Bantu, by way of New Orleans,” Maury said.

  It was the first time Sarah had ever seen Lorett at a loss for words. Finally, she nodded.

  “Yes…my ancestors were Bantu. How do you know this?”

  “I been to Africa a time or two in my youth. You had the same look as this woman I knew there. She was some sort of a bigwig of her tribe. As for the New Orleans part…it’s in your voice, don’t you know?”

  “Have you eaten, little man?” she asked.

  It was all Maury could do not to cry. “Not lately,” he said, and then looked at Tony. “Could we talk over whatever it is she’s gonna feed me?”

  Sarah started to grin. “A fair-weather suitor if I ever saw one. And here I thought he’d been pining away for me.”

  Tony rolled his eyes at Maury and led the way to the kitchen.

  It wasn’t until Maury’s second bowl of soup that he started to talk.

  “Miss Whitman, it was like you said. Your old man went to his lodge meetings real regular. He was well-thought-of by all concerned until him and the money went missing. Now…before you get all huffy at me, I know that’s because they both disappeared at the same time.”

  “So what are you going to do? That notation on the calendar has to mean something.”

  He tipped his soup bowl and poured what was left in his spoon, then slurped it into his mouth.

  Lorett beamed. There was nothing she liked better than to see someone enjoying her food.

  “Oh, I didn’t say I was through. Not by a long shot,” he said. “I’m still on the move. Don’t count Maury out yet.”

  Then he leaned forward and took a notepad from his pocket.

  “What can you tell me about your mother? Like…did she belong to any clubs? What did she do on a regular basis?”

  Sarah frowned. It had been so long ago, and she’d tried to block the biggest part of it from her memory.

  “I remember a few things…like she belonged to Friends of the Library and the Garden Club. I went with her to the Garden Club sometimes during the summer when school was out.”

  “Anything else?” Maury asked. “Did she have a special friend?”

  “You mean a female friend?”

  “Whatever,” Maury said.

  Sarah glared. “If you’re trying to insinuate that my mother was cheating on my father, then you can—”

  “She was not,” Lorett said briefly.

  Maury looked up. “Did you live here at the time?”

  “I did not.”

  “Where did you live?” he asked.

  “New Orleans.”

  “And you know for a fact that Sarah’s mother was on the up-and-up?”

  “I know.”

  He stared at her for a few seconds more and then nodded. “Okay.”

  “Why do you believe her and not me?” Sarah asked.

  Maury looked at Sarah as if she were a silly child who’d asked a silly question. Still he answered.

  “That Bantu woman I knew in Africa…she had the sight, too.”

  “Oh.”

  “Next question,” Tony muttered, trying hard to assimilate the fact that he was actually sitting in on a conversation where everyone believed in ESP and voodoo but him.

  “Think back,” Maury said, addressing his question to Sarah. “What did your mother do on a regular basis that was outside the house?”

  It was as if a light came on in Sarah’s memory. She sat up and leaned forward, her voice excited and light.

  “She used to come to my school. Every Wednesday. She was the helper for the day, and I loved it.”

  “Like a teacher’s aide kind of thing?” Maury asked.

  “Yes. Marmet is small. There was never any funding for it, so parents volunteered their time.”

  “So every Wednesday afternoon your mother was at your school, and every other Wednesday night, your father was at his lodge meetings.”

  “Yes, unless they were sick, or something like that.”

  He nodded, then pecked on his notepad where he’d written “Moose—1:00 p.m.”

  “And we know your father was in the bank during this time every day, because I’ve checked with a couple of people who worked there then. They said he always took the early lunch from eleven to twelve so that he could be in the bank for the customers who needed to see him on their own lunch breaks.”

  “Then what does this mean?” Tony asked.

  “Don’t know yet, but I’m gonna find out,” Maury said. “Don’t guess there’s any more goodies in that box of yours that would help me?”

  “It’s too late now,” Sarah said. “It was stolen last night when Tony was attacked.”

  Maury glanced at the stitches on Tony’s head. “Sorry about that,” he said. “I didn’t mention it earlier ’cause I figured that woman of yours probably dented it with one of her pans.�
�

  There was a moment of stunned silence, and then everyone laughed.

  “I’m not violent,” Sarah said.

  Maury looked at her and shook his head. “But you could be,” he said, then added, “If you was provoked.”

  “Well, I never,” Sarah said, then leaned back in her chair, for once in her life too stunned to retaliate.

  As Tony escorted the little man to the door, Sarah had to ask, “Aunt Lorett?”

  “What?”

  “Do you think I could be violent?”

  Lorett turned from the sink where she was standing, and for once didn’t answer as quickly as Sarah expected.

  “Aunt Lorett?”

  Lorett exhaled a sigh. “It doesn’t matter what I think,” she said. “Go about your business, child.”

  Sarah stood up, suddenly afraid to hear the rest of this sitting down.

  “I want to know,” she said. “Tell me.”

  Lorett looked away once, then met Sarah’s gaze.

  “If you had to, you would kill.”

  Sarah staggered as if she’d been punched. “I don’t understand.”

  “You don’t have to,” Lorett said. “All that means is you have the strength to protect those you love. Now go away. I have food to prepare.”

  “I promised Tony I’d make him an angel pie.”

  “It is too damp for such a thing,” she said. “The meringue would fall.”

  “I guess you’re right.”

  “Of course I am,” Lorett said. “You make him such a thing next summer, when it is dry.”

  Next summer? That was so far away. Did that mean they would be together next summer, or was that Lorett’s way of getting her out of her hair?

  The killer was going through the belongings that had been in Whitman’s box. Except for the daily calendar, it contained nothing but trinkets and pictures of no consequence. Leafing through the pages of the calendar, at first the killer saw nothing to set off an alarm—until…It took a few minutes for the realization to dawn as to why such a thing would be on Whitman’s calendar.

  The killer looked, then looked again, for the first time seeing the handwriting on the pages, rather than what had been written.

  “Oh my God.”

  The calendar dropped unnoticed onto the floor.

  It wasn’t Whitman’s writing.

  And in that moment, the killer knew that if anyone else saw the truth, it would be the end of everything.