Anger made my jaw tighten. “Things have changed since then. Doreen is charged with Murder One. I suggest you get that bottle printed.”
LeMont gave me a disgusted look and pushed through the doors. He trotted down the steps and disappeared into the throng of pedestrians that now crowded the city.
I stood for a moment, torn between hunting Doreen down and going after Trina Zebrowski. I chose Doreen.
I didn’t have to hunt long. Doreen appeared in the corridor while I was trying to decide where to look for her.
“Sarah Booth,” she said, her smile soft. “I saw you in the courtroom. Thanks for coming.”
“I gather you won’t have a problem making the bail?”
She shook her head as we started walking. “It’s covered. Michael is handling all of it.”
We pushed through the doors and stepped onto the sidewalk.
“Where are you going?”
“To the Center, first. Then home.” She stepped into the street, lifted her hand, and began waving at a cab five blocks away. “I’m glad to be out in the sunshine.”
“Doreen, who was paying Pearline?”
She put her hand down and turned to face me. “I told Thad it wasn’t a good idea.”
“The senator was paying Pearline?”
She nodded. “Pearline works for him three days a week. He sent her to me two days. She needed a full-time job, so he made these arrangements.”
“And he paid for it?”
“Yes.” She held my gaze.
“And Pearline was with Rebekah all that afternoon and most of the evening?”
“Yes.” Her eyes held mine. “Pearline can’t even step on a roach. There’s no way she could’ve hurt Rebekah.”
“Someone did.”
“Not Pearline.”
“Then who?” She’d given me so little to work with.
“Why would Pearline hurt Rebekah? What would she gain?”
“I don’t have an answer to that question. Perhaps, though, she was acting for someone else?”
“You think Thad sent her to work for me like some kind of assassin?”
I’d wondered if Doreen could be rattled. Now I knew. She was spitting nails.
“If he thought the baby was his and he wanted to make sure you never filed a paternity claim, he could have.”
“Thad isn’t that kind of man.”
“And you aren’t that kind of woman, so who killed Rebekah?”
The taxi had pulled up to the curb and the driver shouted something out the window. Doreen ignored him. She stood motionless, looking into my eyes.
“I want you to find my brother,” she said. “I want to give him half the money my mother left.”
Doreen was a woman who operated on many levels simultaneously. I would be wise never to underestimate her. “That’s two separate cases. I don’t think I should splinter my time like that. He could be anywhere in the world.”
“Just work on it when you have spare time. My baby is the main focus, but I would like to meet my brother. It’s important that he gets half his inheritance. It’s important that I have a chance to know him.”
She opened the taxi door and got in. She leaned forward to give the driver instructions, and then she was gone. I stood on the curb for a moment, watching the cab blend into the packed traffic. I understood Doreen’s need for a family, but I questioned her timing. A brother wouldn’t do her much good if she was in prison.
My watch showed only nine-thirty, so I drove back to the Eighth District. LeMont needed another good prod, and I also wanted to talk to Michael Anderson’s main squeeze, the mounted patrolwoman, Ms. Zebrowski.
LeMont growled an acknowledgment as I sat down beside his desk.
“I need your help,” I said, deciding on my very best Daddy’s Girl manipulation.
“Go away.” He didn’t even look up at me.
“Detective, an innocent woman may spend the rest of her life in prison.”
He looked up at that. “Doreen Mallory killed her baby. That’s what the facts tell me and that’s what I believe.”
“What facts?”
“She was alone with the infant. There’s no sign of a forced entry. She admits to giving the baby the bottle.” He sighed. “We’ve been over all this, Ms. Delaney. Not even Ms. Mallory can think of another single suspect.”
“What if the barbiturate was put in the bottle during the day, when Doreen was at the Center. Someone could have prepared that bottle long before she gave it to Rebekah.”
He put down the file he was holding. “No one else had a key to the apartment.”
“Doreen had trysts with several men in the past year. They’ve all been in her apartment. They all had as much, or more, motive than Doreen.”
“How so?”
“Paternity.”
He actually flinched. “That’s the most cockamamie thing I’ve heard in at least two weeks.”
“The men are very powerful.” I didn’t want to tell him and violate Doreen’s request, but I was prepared to lay it on the line.
“What, she’s slept with the mayor and the police chief and who else, maybe the President? Now, four years ago, I might have believed that!” He barked a laugh. “Get out of here and quit wasting my time.” He lifted the file. “I’ve got fifty more of these waiting for me.”
“Doreen could well be innocent!” I stood slowly. He wasn’t even interested enough in Rebekah’s paternity to ask who Doreen was sleeping with.
He bent over the file, dismissing me.
“Have you questioned the maid, Pearline Brewer?”
He didn’t look up.
“Detective LeMont, the maid had ample opportunity to mix the barbiturate in the formula. If you’ve talked to her, I’d like to see that report.”
“Pearline Brewer has been out of town since the baby’s death.” He spoke to the top of his desk.
“You haven’t talked to her?” I was shocked and didn’t bother to hide it. “Maybe that should be the next item on your very busy agenda.”
“Beat it,” he said.
I stormed away from him and stopped at the front desk. It took only a moment to discover that Trina Zebrowski was riding a beat on Bourbon Street for a blues funeral.
13
THE FUNERAL PROCESSION MOVED SLOWLY DOWN BOURBON STREET, led by the ancient black men who comprised the Excelsior Band. They played a dirge as they drew abreast of me, then followed it up with “When the Saints Go Marching In.” By the time the procession was out of sight, the mourners, all holding colorful umbrellas and wearing Mardi Gras beads, were dancing behind the hearse. The cycle of life and death, New Orleans style.
Trina Zebrowski rode a heavy bay gelding. Horse and rider seemed unflappable as they pushed back the tourists who didn’t realize that the funeral procession was real and not some theatrics provided for their entertainment. As she passed me, I made eye contact. Her blue eyes seemed shadowed with grief.
I’d already checked the funeral route, and I was standing at the gate of the cemetery when the procession arrived. Trina spotted me instantly. When her duties were complete, she rode over to me.
“You want to talk with me?” she asked, a hint of the Midwest still discernible.
“I do. I’m working for Doreen Mallory.”
The most amazing smile touched her face, and for a split second I could have sworn she was only a child. “Please help Doreen. I know she didn’t kill Rebekah. She loved that baby.”
“I know,” I said. I was finding it difficult to crane my head up; the horse was a handsome seventeen hands. “Could we talk somewhere?”
She laughed softly and slid from the saddle to the ground. To my surprise, she was only a little over five feet tall. Mounted, she’d appeared much bigger.
“Let’s walk,” she said, pointing to a broad shell path that led through the mausoleums. “We have to bury the dead above- ground, you know. We’re below sea level here.”
I walked beside her and let her talk as she
led her horse. We were well out of range of the burial when I stopped. “If Doreen didn’t kill her baby, who do you think did?”
“I can’t imagine,” she said. “We all loved that baby.”
“I understand you were with Michael that night.”
“Yes, I spent the night with him.” She was looking at the ground as she walked, but her smile was that of a woman in love.
“What happened?”
She looked up at me, and once again she looked like an innocent child. “We went to sleep. We didn’t wake up until the morning, when Doreen called.”
“How did Michael react to the news?”
“He was concerned for Doreen, supportive. He cares about her.”
“And Doreen? How did she sound?”
“She’s the most wonderful person in the world. Even when she called to say that Rebekah was dead and the police were there, she was so calm. She thought that God had just called Rebekah home.”
“And what do you think?”
Trina frowned. “I don’t know. Detective LeMont says Rebekah was murdered, but I know Doreen didn’t do it.” She hesitated. “Maybe this is a trial God has sent to Doreen, like the people in the Bible. God does that a lot, you know.”
I started to say that I thought such a God was pretty awful, but she spoke again.
“God sent me a test. Doreen helped me pass it. She saved my life.”
“Tell me about it.”
“I grew up in Oklahoma, on a farm. I hated it. My parents were so . . . repressed. Anyway, about three years ago I moved here to New Orleans. I wanted to be a singer, but there are just so many musicians here. Anyway, I ended up really sick. I had a tumor on my spine.”
“You had a medical doctor diagnose this?” I’d heard that Doreen had cured Trina’s tumor, but I wanted proof that there had actually been one.
“Yes, at Oschner’s Clinic. It was a fast-growing cancer. They told me I had maybe three months before I’d be paralyzed.” She stopped talking and started walking faster. The horse, so well behaved, followed behind her on a loose rein.
I caught up with her. “So, what happened?”
“Doreen bought the building where I was living. At first I was totally disgusted with her. I’d go to the Square and watch her read for people and then touch them. I figured she was the biggest charlatan around.”
“And?” I prompted.
“I saw her in the courtyard one day, planting some flowers. I was so angry. I could feel the tumor growing on my spine, pushing on the spinal cord. I knew I’d be in a wheelchair in a matter of days. And there she was, gardening, living the life I wanted. I just lit into her.”
“You struck her?”
Trina shook her head. “No, but I started cursing her. I told her how unfair it was that I was dying and she was stealing money from people. I’d never done anything bad to anyone.”
“What did she say?”
“She just stood up really slow and she asked me if I’d like some tea. She went inside her apartment, and she came down with two glasses of iced tea. When she handed me my glass, she touched me. And she looked right into my eyes, and she said, ‘The tumor will begin to shrink now.’ ”
“Did it?”
“My next doctor’s appointment, they were amazed. It was half the size. And the next visit, it was gone.”
“How long ago was that?”
“About a year ago.”
“And now?”
“I’m cancer-free.”
I almost touched her. She seemed filled with a strange light. Her blue eyes held a sparkling translucence. “You believe Doreen healed you?”
Trina’s smile made tears start in my eyes. “She says she didn’t. She says I healed myself, with help from the Divine. The Divine can be God, or gods, or angels. It doesn’t matter what you call it, because it’s all love.” Trina smiled at my skeptical look. “Doreen said I had a contract with the Divine. It was his choice to heal me, but I opened myself to the possibility. I’ll tell you, I changed my life. I started taking riding lessons for police work. I’d ridden all my life on the farm, but I’m small. I never thought I could get a job with the police force. But Doreen thought of the mounted unit. Now I have my job, my horse, and Michael. Since that day when Doreen touched me, my life has steadily gotten better and better.”
“Would you mind if I spoke with your doctors at Oschner’s?”
Her laughter rang against the marble tombs. “Help yourself. In fact, when I get back to the District, I’ll call Dr. Walsh and tell him to cooperate with you in every way.”
“Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.” She circled around and we started back to the gate. The funeral procession was leaving. All of the joy that the band had created was gone. Women were softly weeping as they slowly walked through the tombs.
“Who died?”
“Able Macon. He was a fine trumpet player.”
We reached the gate in silence. Instinctively I turned to offer Trina a leg up. She was short and the horse was big.
“I’ve got it,” she said, hiking her left foot almost to her chin to put it in the stirrup. With a smooth motion she vaulted onto the saddle. “I have to be able to mount on my own. Police regulations!” Her smile slowly faded. “Can you help Doreen?”
“I hope so,” I said. “Just out of curiosity, what time did you and Michael go to sleep?”
She thought a moment. “We had dinner at Port-O-Call, and we went back to his place.”
“Where is Michael’s place?” I asked.
“He’s down on Barren Street, almost at the end.”
I calculated the distance in my head. It could be walked in twenty minutes, jogged in ten.
“I guess we went to sleep around ten. I have to be at work at seven, so I’m not a night owl.” She gave a soft chuckle. “Too many years of living on a farm, I guess.”
“And you slept through the night.”
“It was the best night’s sleep I’ve had in months. Once I was out, I didn’t wake until the alarm went off at six.”
“And Michael?”
“He was right beside me.”
“He’s a sound sleeper, too, huh?”
“Like the dead. I’m normally the one who wakes up all through the night.”
“So you would have awakened if he got up?”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m not saying anything, Trina. I just have to check out every angle.”
“Why would Michael hurt Rebekah? He loved her. He loves Doreen. He’d never do anything to hurt either of them.”
Trina wasn’t privy to Michael’s affair with Doreen, or the fact that he might be Rebekah’s father. I wasn’t about to tell her, either. I gave a crooked smile. “I’m only doing my job.”
Her eyes narrowed, lightning flashing in the depths. “Maybe Doreen needs a local PI. Sister Mary Magdalen may not be the best person to pick out a detective.”
“Trina, I’m only doing my job. Don’t take it personally.”
“I’ll talk to Doreen myself,” she said, closing her legs on the horse. She trotted out of the cemetery and down the street.
I’d hurt her, and from her point of view, it was without cause.
My cell phone rang and I dug it out of my purse with a sense of relief. Tinkie’s timing was perfect.
“Tinkie!” I said.
“Miss Sarah Booth?”
The voice was older and confused. It took me a moment to recognize Mollie.
“It’s me,” I said. “Are you okay?”
“More than okay. But I need you back in Zinnia. I can’t go any further on the dress until you try it on.”
“You need me now?”
“Right this minute. The hem on this dress is a mile long and it’s gonna take some fine hand-stitching.”
I could hear Mollie’s excitement. The dress was going to be a knockout!
“I’ll try to get home this evening,” I said. “I’ll give you a call when I get to Zinnia.”
>
“Hurry up, girl. This is gonna be the dress that gets you a husband.” She hung up before I could argue with her.
I dialed Tinkie’s number and counted five rings before she answered. “Meet me for lunch at Jonathan’s,” she said. “I have news.”
I had news, too, but when Tinkie heard I was going to abandon her in New Orleans, she wasn’t going to be happy.
I OPTED FOR a house salad with vinegar and a touch of oil. Tinkie had gumbo. We’d both come close to damaging ourselves at breakfast.
“I found Starla,” Tinkie said as the waiter spread her napkin in her lap. “She heard someone in the courtyard the night Rebekah was killed.”
This was good news. “Did she tell the police?”
Tinkie put her spoon down and slowly shook her head. “Because everyone thought Rebekah’s death was accidental, the police never questioned Starla.”
Detective LeMont’s face jumped into my mind. He was so sure Doreen killed her baby. Why? “LeMont did a half-assed investigation.”
“I know. And so does Doreen.”
“Tinkie, I need to go back to Zinnia.”
Her expression shifted to puzzlement. “Why?”
“I just have to.”
“You’re homesick, aren’t you?”
I couldn’t help but smile. “Just a little. I need to check on a few things.”
“You aren’t going to see Coleman, are you?”
I was surprised at the jolt of recognition. Tinkie knew me better than I knew myself. “I have something I need to see about.”
“Sarah Booth, I wish I could change things for you.”
“I know.”
“Bring Cece back with you. She’s all aflutter about the Black and Orange Ball. She swears she has a surprise for you that’s going to make your panties hit the floor.”
“Probably another guide to self-satisfaction,” I said with a hint of fear.
Tinkie only laughed. “When will you be back?”
“Tomorrow, before lunch.”
“Just drive safely.”
“What are you going to do?” I felt as if I were abandoning Tinkie.
“Don’t worry. I’m meeting Michael to talk about the books, and I need to talk to Doreen.” A shadow crossed her face.
Hallowed Bones Page 11
