“Sometimes. When they’ve been taken by a political faction. Italy was a hot spot for that at one time. Now it’s Central America. And to be honest, it’s most often people so poor they don’t have money for food.”
My mother had joined the Peace Corps. She was a ruthless do-gooder who believed in action, agitation, and standing up for the underdog.
“Why are you smiling?” His finger teased the corner of my mouth. His touch thrilled me, but I had begun to see that Hamilton was a lot more than a fantasy.
“My mother would have liked you.”
“My father talked about her on a regular basis. He admired her. He said she was a woman who spoke her mind with passion and intelligence.” He gathered my hand and held it between his warm ones. “I’ve missed you. In fact, there were days when I thought I’d have to get on a plane and come home.”
“Someone told me that there are telephones in Paris.” I said it with wide-eyed innocence.
He laughed. “A call would only have made it worse. My life is very busy. I work long hours, sometimes without rest. When I would go home at night, exhausted, I would find myself lying awake in bed, thinking about you. If I’d heard your voice, it would have been much, much worse.”
“Not for me.” I squeezed his hand. “Why didn’t you come home?”
He sighed. “My work is consuming. There’s so much to be done, and money sources are drying up in this bad economy. If I can’t find the funding, people die.”
One didn’t just hop on a plane for a lark and leave a prisoner to be tortured and killed. Damn. It would have been so much easier if Hamilton had been the banker I’d imagined. Oscar didn’t have such conflicts of interest.
“But you’re here now.” Much to my conflicted delight.
“I’m working on a deal. There are a number of extremely wealthy exiled El Salvadoran families here. I came to personally tap into their pockets. I’m harder to resist in person.”
That I had no doubt of.
“But I wanted to see you. I would have driven to Zinnia had you not been here for the ball.”
“You called Cece instead of me. Why?”
“I wanted to see if you’d married or taken some strange vow of celibacy.” He laughed. “Really, I didn’t want to interfere if you had a relationship going.”
“And Cece said . . . ?” She’d obviously kept her mouth shut about Coleman.
“That you were thriving in your business and head over heels in suitors, none of them serious. Would you care for another drink? Something to eat?” he asked.
“No, I’m not hungry.” My stomach was so knotted with anticipation and shock that I couldn’t have swallowed a peanut.
“Shall we go?”
“Where?” I asked.
“Wherever you’d like.” He stepped around the table and smoothly pulled my chair out. “Just be warned, Sarah Booth, that I’ve come to take you back to Paris with me. I can’t stay here, but I can’t leave you. My intentions are on the table.”
The flame of desire that had been tamped down by our serious conversation burst back to life.
We walked demurely out of the restaurant and into the street. Hamilton hailed a taxi and we both got in it as if we were going to church, but the cabbie eyed us in the rearview mirror and grinned. “Where to?”
I started to say the Monteleone, but Hamilton gave another address. It sounded closer, which was fine with me. We both managed the cab ride by staring straight ahead of us. I had no idea where we were when the cab stopped and we got out.
In a dream, I allowed Hamilton to escort me inside. I vaguely noticed the brass doorplates, the echo of our footsteps on the marble floor. Hamilton keyed the elevator, and we stepped inside, the heavy brass doors swishing shut.
I turned to him, and we looked into each other’s eyes. There were questions I wanted to ask him, things I needed to tell him. But the overpowering desire to feel his arms around me was too strong to be stopped by mere words.
We stepped toward each other and I lifted my lips for his kiss. After that, it was only fire and electricity. I was half undressed by the time the elevator stopped on the fifth floor. I noticed nothing of the room that we stepped into, saw none of the elegantly appointed furnishings.
We finished undressing as we slowly made our way, pausing for long, deep kisses, to the bedroom. I did notice the huge brass bed covered with a tapestry spread. And then I was on the bed, and Hamilton was over me, kissing me, teasing me with his fingertips and tongue, transporting me away from everything except the power and the magic of his touch.
IT WASN’T UNTIL that afternoon that I came to realize we weren’t in a hotel but in a private residence. It was a magnificent place, all dark mahogany, earth-toned colors, and polished brass. A loan from one of Hamilton’s business associates, he said.
Around three, Hamilton called someone to deliver food. We were sated on sex but ravenous for food. We ate gumbo in Styrofoam containers and drank a light, crisp white wine that Hamilton pulled from the refrigerator and uncorked.
When he looked at me, I found nothing to say. I was back in eighth grade, terminally shy.
“Sarah Booth,” he said, pulling the sheet up to keep the chill off my chest, “I’ve missed you. Not a day has gone by that I haven’t thought of you.”
I wanted to ask him if he’d been with other women, but I didn’t want to answer the question in the reverse.
He fed me and talked about his life in Paris. As I listened, I couldn’t stop the rush of my heartbeat whenever he sounded as if he might want to come home to Mississippi. And when he spoke as if he’d stay in Paris, I wondered if I could ever leave Dahlia House and all that I loved. I didn’t know the answer to that.
Hamilton had been set aside in my mind. Never forgotten. Just moved to that place where other unreachable dreams were kept.
“You look far away,” he whispered, a hint of sadness in his own face.
“No, I was just thinking about my life and how it twists and turns.” I smiled to hide the shadow of my thoughts.
“Did you know that in France, they’ve invented a totally new way of making love?” His eyes were wicked, and his smile held the promise of fun.
“Right,” I said, trying hard not to wonder who he’d learned his French tricks from.
“It’s true. Would you like to try it?”
I wasn’t certain I’d be able to walk. I couldn’t believe he was recharged. “Are you sure?” I asked.
“Close your eyes,” he said. “That’s it, just lay perfectly still and keep your eyes closed.”
I felt the sheet being slowly pulled down my body. Goose bumps, partly from the temperature of the room but mostly from anticipation, danced over my body. I felt something strange drop into my navel. Then another on my stomach, my torso, my chest. I started to peek, but Hamilton put a hand on my eyes.
“You can’t cheat,” he said, and he was about to laugh.
“What are you doing?”
“Do you like dark chocolate?” he asked.
“You know I do.”
“And espresso?”
“Coffee in any form is a good thing.”
“Then you’ll appreciate how badly I want this. It’s a chocolate-covered coffee bean. They’re all over your body, and I intend to eat every one of them.” His lips hovered teasingly over my navel, his tongue seeking what had been dropped there. I squealed with delight.
“The game begins,” he said, grasping my wrists as he bent his head to find another treat.
AN HOUR LATER, we were showered, dressed, and walking in the Square. I hadn’t pointed Doreen out, but Hamilton had noticed her. In fact, he was almost drawn to her. When we were catty-cornered from her, I touched his hand.
“That’s Doreen,” I said.
“My God, she’s beautiful.” His gaze never left her.
“Yes, she is.” I started toward her and Hamilton followed. She was reading cards for a young woman and I didn’t want to interrupt, but she caught sight o
f me, her gaze traveling to Hamilton and then back to me. She smiled.
I motioned that we’d hang around until she finished, and she resumed her reading. The young woman didn’t look happy. In a few minutes she picked up her purse and left in a huff.
“Anything wrong?” I asked, watching the girl’s back disappear in the crowd.
“People ask for the truth, and when they get it, they don’t like it. That young woman needs to focus on her children, not her social life.” She shrugged. “She has two children and not a single question was about them.”
Doreen was beautiful, but she was also tired. I could see it under her eyes and in the paleness of her lips.
“Let me read for you,” she said to Hamilton, after I’d introduced them.
I started to speak against it, but Hamilton wouldn’t have heeded me. He was delighted. He took the seat in front of her and shuffled the tarot deck, his large hands easily handling the oversized cards.
“Do you have a question?” Doreen asked.
Hamilton considered. “Will I be alone much longer?”
“Cut the deck,” Doreen told him.
Hamilton did that, and Doreen began to lay out the pattern.
“The pattern is the Celtic cross,” she said, putting down more cards.
I studied the images. There was no Death or Hangman or Tower or Devil. It didn’t look too bad.
Doreen studied the pattern, and then she looked at Hamilton. The saddest smile touched her face. “The first card”—she touched a Knight of Wands—“is you, Hamilton. You’re an adventurer, a man of action and will. Therein lies your strength and your weakness.”
Strengths I could deal with. Weaknesses were dangerous. To the people to whom they belonged, and others.
She studied the cards more, her hands hovering over them one by one. “You yearn for permanence.” She smiled. “For the land and the vista of childhood, but adventure beckons you to other places. I see a house . . . no, an apartment, but it’s rocking gently. It’s a boat!”
“I live on a boat,” Hamilton said. He was fascinated. “How did you know?”
“The present is easy,” Doreen said.
Easy enough for Tinkie to have mentioned it, since it was obvious she was in on the big surprise of Hamilton’s visit.
Doreen’s eyes clouded, but she was looking at Hamilton, not the cards. “There’s trouble in your fourth chakra. Or there will be.” Her face was solemn. “News will come from a distance. Exciting news. You’ll celebrate and then there will be sorrow.”
My face must have reflected my reaction to her words. She reached out and touched my hand. “All of life is a balance, Sarah Booth. Celebration and grief, love and loss. It’s the cycle of life.”
“My experience has been more grief than celebration,” I said.
She laughed. “I don’t believe that. I look at you and I see joy.”
“Thank you,” Hamilton said, reaching into his pocket for his billfold.
“No charge,” Doreen said. She gathered up her cards.
“One last question,” I said. “Will Hamilton find true love?” I was unable to meet the amused glance he cast at me.
“Yes,” Doreen said. “He will.”
19
AS MUCH AS I WANTED TO BE WITH HAMILTON, I NEEDED TO TALK with Doreen. Tinkie was heavy on my mind, but I didn’t want to discuss her personal business in front of Hamilton. When I told him I needed to work, he assured me that he had phone calls to return. He would wait for me at his place. I was invited to his private spend-the-night party.
Doreen and I walked through the falling dusk to the Center. Though we sauntered side by side, Doreen was far away. Several people smiled and spoke to her, but she didn’t notice them.
When we got to the Center, I put a hand on her shoulder. I wasn’t certain if we would have any privacy inside.
“I spoke with the sheriff of Sunflower County today. Doreen, this is hard.” I took a breath. “Your mother was involved with a county police officer for several years. His name is Coot Henderson. I don’t know how far into the past you want to go, but Coot thinks your mother may have been murdered.”
Doreen seemed to look beyond me. I thought at first she hadn’t understood what I’d said.
“Was my mother so hated that someone would kill her?” she finally asked.
“I wouldn’t have thought so.” I’d also asked myself who might have killed Lillith. And more to the point—why?
“Will you talk to this man for me?” she asked.
“Of course. Coleman’s made an appointment. In fact, Tinkie’s going to go to Zinnia tomorrow—”
“No, I’d like you to do it.”
“Tinkie is perfectly capable of—”
“I don’t doubt her skill. Tinkie doesn’t need to be in Zinnia right now. She’s focusing on something very important.”
“The cancer,” I said, wanting Doreen to know that Tinkie had trusted me with the knowledge of her illness. “And her doctor is in Zinnia.”
“She needs to be here.”
“She’s supposed to have a biopsy, and I certainly hope you aren’t discouraging her from that.”
“The biopsy is November fifth,” Doreen said, unruffled by my tone. “Until that time, Tinkie needs to be here.”
“With her husband,” I said forcefully.
“I’m eager to meet Oscar.”
There seemed no way I could offend Doreen. We entered the Center and went to her office. Michael was there, his face lighting up when he saw Doreen.
“Don’t forget your booking at the studio tomorrow,” he said.
“Cancel it,” Doreen said.
“What?” The joy evaporated from Michael’s face. “We’ve waited four months for that booking. If you cancel, we won’t be able to get that studio until after the first of the year.”
“Cancel it.”
“Doreen, this is the tape where you discuss the role of archetypes in illness. Your followers have been waiting for months already.”
For a moment, Doreen looked at Michael. In three long strides she was beside him. She put her hands on either side of his face. “Michael, it doesn’t matter.” Her voice was very soft.
“It does matter, Doreen,” he said. The edge was gone from his voice, but it was still strong. “You have commitments. You’ve made promises. I’ve spent the last four weeks setting this up. The CDs and tapes are due to ship out just before Christmas.”
“And what will happen if the tapes are never made?”
“A lot of people will be disappointed. And we’ll have to pay for the studio time anyway. That’s a lot of money.”
“Money isn’t a consideration here, Michael.”
“Of course it’s not. Money doesn’t matter to you because you never have to dirty your hands with it. I’m the one who takes care of all the financial problems. I’m the one who ultimately pays the bills for your decisions.”
Michael’s face was pale, his eyes angry.
“Michael, you’re wonderful at your job. But it is my decision to make.”
I saw the muscle in his jaw clench and then relax. He took a breath. “Yes, Doreen. It is your decision. But as your financial advisor, I have to tell you when I think you’re making a mistake.”
“You’ve told me,” she said softly. “You’ve done your job. More than your job. As always.”
“What about the people who’re waiting for this tape?” he asked.
“I help all that I can. I refuse to accept that burden.”
“I’m the one who initiated the campaign for these tapes. I’m the one who set the Christmas release date. And I’ll look like a fool,” Michael said bitterly.
“Not to me.” She kissed his forehead. “Never to me.”
Michael looked down at his desk. “You’re the boss.”
I couldn’t read anything into his tone, but Doreen straightened up and nodded at me. “I’m going to Zinnia with you.”
“Zinnia?” Michael asked. “Why?”
“Is that right?” Michael looked at me, his dark eyes troubled. “I’m so sorry, Doreen. I didn’t realize why you were canceling the studio.”
“Reschedule for after the first, and apologize for me.”
“I’ll go with you to Zinnia,” Michael said. “If there’s murder involved, you shouldn’t be alone.”
“I’ll be with Sarah Booth,” Doreen said with the hint of a smile. “We’ll be fine.”
“But what if the murderer is still around?”
“I doubt he’s hanging around the scene of the crime now,” Doreen said. “My mother’s been dead a long time.”
“Sheriff Peters will be with us,” I said. “We’ll be perfectly safe.” We didn’t need an entourage if we were going to talk about a potential murder.
“There’s a small problem,” Michael said, one corner of his handsome mouth turned down. “Doreen isn’t allowed to leave the jurisdiction.”
“I’ll talk with LeMont,” I volunteered. “Maybe he’ll be able to get her permission to make a day trip.”
THE BLACK KETTLE was a casual bar with a big business. The place was packed, and I stood on tiptoe trying to catch a glimpse of LeMont. I finally located him at the bar, where he was holding a stool for me by draping his leg over it.
His dark suit was rumpled and he finished one beer and ordered another. Judging from his posture, he was either tired or had just finished a discouraging day.
“Ms. Delaney,” he said as he shifted his leg and offered me the stool. “What can I do for you?” There was a snap in his voice.
“Thank you for meeting me,” I said. It would be best to get right to the point. “Doreen wants to go with me to Zinnia tomorrow. There’s some indication that her mother may have been murdered. I’m going to talk to a possible witness to the murder.” I was stretching things a bit.
“Her mother was murdered?”
“Possibly,” I said, wondering at his sudden interest.
“And you think it would be a good idea to have Doreen with you when you talk to this witness?”
Put in that frame, I could see it wasn’t such a good idea. “She wants to go.”
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