Bone Appétit (22 page)

“Just as you’ve done to Hedy,” I pointed out.

“But I’ve done it
for
Vivian.”

“Sure.” Marcus wasn’t the altruistic type. Not even for the daughter he clearly loved.

“Believe what you want. I hired a private investigator to check into Hedy and her family. My intention was to bolster my parental claim when the baby was born. I wanted to be a part of the child’s life, even if not a full-time father. When I found out about the Saulniers, I realized I had to save Vivian from them.”

“And that’s when you coerced a new mother with no resources to sign away the rights to her child.” Tinkie barely kept her tone civil.

“They’re voodoo practitioners. In each generation, the first daughter serves the queen, Marie Laveau. That would be Vivian’s role. She would grow up with those beliefs. It would cripple her for life.”

I couldn’t stop the laughter. “You are kidding, right?”

“I’m deadly serious.” The pallor of his skin proved it. “Vivian would be taught the voodoo ways if she stayed with Hedy. You don’t know the truth about those people. I couldn’t let that happen to my child.”

I couldn’t discern if Marcus believed this or if he’d figured out how to lie convincingly. Still, his passion gave me a tiny chill.

“Marcus, tell me you don’t really believe in voodoo,” Tinkie persisted. “If Hedy had these strange powers, don’t you think you’d be dead by now?”

Score one for the Tink. “Yeah,” I threw in.

“Mock me if it makes you feel better, but I’m telling
you, that family has long links to practices I don’t want my daughter to know about. I don’t want her dabbling in the dark arts or thinking the way to achieve something is to call on dark forces.”

“Certainly not when she can simply use the Wellington fortune to buy it or bully it into submission,” I said.

“The Saulniers are dangerous.” He wiped a sheen of sweat from his forehead.

“You are superstitious.” I was surprised. A lot of wealthy people have no beliefs, except for the power of money.

“Not superstitious. Realistic. Whether Hedy can conjure demons or call on the dark side to help her, I don’t know. That’s not even the point. It’s a mentality, a view of life I don’t want Vivian exposed to. Not ever. So I did what I had to do to protect her.”

“You sent a nanny to show Hedy how inadequate she was and then you browbeat a vulnerable young woman into giving up her child.”

Marcus lifted his chin in a gesture of defiance. “I did. It may be the only unselfish thing Hedy ever did, giving up Vivian. The nanny I found is wonderful. My two-year-old daughter is already reading simple stories and playing the piano. She’s a brilliant child, and with me she’ll have every opportunity. Private lessons, the best schools, connections in any world she wants to pursue. Unless Hedy ruins it.”

“And Vivian will never know her mother.” Tinkie hadn’t softened a whit.

“She thinks her mother is happy and busy. That’s the best thing for her.”

“Maybe not,” Tinkie said. “A child needs a maternal connection. It’s the strongest bond formed for most women. A surrogate or hired employee can never fulfill that role.”

“No matter how fabulous this Anna may be, she isn’t Vivian’s mother,” I said.

“No, she isn’t,” Marcus said. “She’s better for Vivian than Hedy could ever be.” Marcus eased from his chair and opened the front door. “Anna! Could you come here a moment!”

She must have been close, because she came out the door in under thirty seconds. She was a short woman, small-framed and elegantly dressed. Her stylishly short haircut was shot through with slivers of gray.

“This is Anna Lock,” Marcus said, “Vivian’s nanny.”

Joey Mott’s description of the strange woman in the blues club stood before me in the flesh.

Tinkie gave me a nod, acknowledging that she saw the same thing.

“Ask her whatever you want,” Marcus said impatiently.

“Does Vivian ask for her mother?” Tinkie asked.

Anna hesitated, her gaze on Marcus. “She’s an unusual child,” she said. “Mature beyond her years and easily influenced.”

“You didn’t answer the question,” I pointed out.

“She does quite well without her mother.” Anna went to Marcus and put her hand on his arm in a maternal way. She was in her forties and though she was attractive, there wasn’t a smidgen of sexual energy about her. She was all business and all Vivian. “She’s extremely intelligent and deserves the opportunities Marcus can provide for her. I supervise her lessons, her meals, her play associates. I treat her as my own child and will continue to do so until she requires more advanced stimulation.”

“But she isn’t your child.” Tinkie rose as she spoke. “And she isn’t a brain waiting to be loaded with ‘stimulation.’ She’s a child and she needs her mother.”

Anna didn’t hesitate. “Marcus and I agree she should have no contact with the mother. Absolutely none.”

Marcus had surprised me with his honesty, but he’d also
troubled me. The things he’d done in the name of love would result in heartache down the road. Whatever kind of nanny Anna Lock might be, she was off.

“Consider allowing Hedy visitation. For your sake, Marcus, as well as Vivian’s. When your daughter realizes what you’ve done, she’ll never forgive you.”

“That’ll never happen. Hedy is going to jail. How good would that be for Vivian to meet her mother only to have the woman dragged out of her life and put behind bars?” Marcus nodded at the door, and Anna responded instantly by stepping into the house and closing the door.

Marcus confronted us. “You’ve met Anna. She’s responsible, older, well educated. Hedy should stop worrying about Vivian and leave her future to me.”

“When pigs fly,” Tinkie said under her breath.

“Ladies, I have business to attend to. Tell your client to say away from my driveway or she’ll regret it.” He slammed the front door as he left us on the porch.

We settled into the Cadillac with the air conditioner roaring. Tinkie looked back at the porch. “Anna could be the woman from the bar.”

“I know.”

“She’s a strange one, isn’t she?”

“Strange and creepy.”

“She’s pretty. Or she could be if she wasn’t such a dour old bat. Lessons, intellect . . .” Tinkie mimicked her priggish tone. “Do you think Anna would kill three women to put the blame on Hedy?”

“If it meant keeping Vivian, I’d say yes, it’s a distinct possibility.”

By the time we got back to the Alluvian, it was lunchtime. Tinkie and I decided to try the Crystal Grill, a locally famous
eatery near the railroad tracks. When we entered, the delicious smells made my mouth water.

We ordered burgers, fries, and lemon meringue pie. The place was hopping. Locals chatted at every table. We’d picked this restaurant so we could talk, reasoning that none of the contestants would risk the calories of delicious Southern food.

I read the menu, about to drool on the table with the possibilities we hadn’t ordered, when I felt Tinkie’s foot nudge mine under the table. She nodded to a secluded corner where Belinda Buck, one of the judges, sat with Voncil Payne. They’d taken a table in an alcove and hadn’t noticed us arrive. Belinda was eating, and Voncil was talking. With great animation.

“That Voncil never gives up, does she?” Tinkie said. I’d told her about the encounter in the hall with Harley Pitts and the petit fours.

“Gotta love a mother who stage-manages her daughter and pushes all competition into the ditch.”

“Amanda’s performance at the barbecue was stupendous. Seeing her in action, working the crowd, managing the entertainment aspect, as well as cooking, I think she’s a contender.” Tinkie had an eye for such things.

“If that’s the case, Amanda may be the next victim.”

“Or the killer,” Tinkie pointed out.

“I just don’t see that.” Amanda weighed maybe ninety pounds soaking wet and she was quiet as a church mouse. She wouldn’t fit any profiler’s outline of a killer. “Voncil is more likely. She’s the grease that skids Amanda down the tracks.”

“She’ll ram Amanda through anyone who gets in the way.”

“True, but my thoughts on the killer have changed drastically since meeting Anna Lock. We can’t discount Marcus
or one of the contestants, but I think we should take a close look at the nanny.”

“Me too. She’s . . . not right.” Tinkie peeled a packet of crackers and munched one. “If it is one of the contestants, though, my vote still goes to Karrie Kompton.”

Speak of the devil and she arrives. Karrie strolled into the café just as the waitress put our food in front of us. The whole place fell silent as everyone took note of her arrival. She was hard to miss in a minidress that showed a mile of leg, high-heel sandals, a huge sun hat, and sunglasses.

She walked straight to the table where Voncil and Belinda were confabbing and stuck a finger in Voncil’s face. “Everyone knows you’re trying to bribe the judges. You’re probably killing off the contestants, but I’m onto you.”

Tinkie was on her feet and across the room, her digital camera out and snapping. Belinda tried to hide behind a menu as Tinkie captured the moment. Joy would reign in the halls of the
Dispatch
.

“Give me that camera!” Karrie grabbed a fistful of Tinkie’s hair. I was on my feet in a flash. Without a second thought, I karate-chopped Karrie. I’d never had a martial arts lesson, but I hit her hard enough to make up in pain what I lacked in technique. She let go of my partner.

“You two have been the bane of my existence since I got here,” Karrie said. “You’re going to pay.” She stalked out of the restaurant to a long, sharp wolf whistle from a table full of young men.

Voncil was in tears, and dismay showed on Belinda Buck’s face. “This isn’t what it appears to be,” Belinda said.

“Looks to me like a judge having lunch with a contestant’s mother,” Tinkie said. “Can you spell ‘compromised’?” Leave it to my partner to call a spade a spade. And I was the ornery one.

“We didn’t plan this lunch. I came to eat, saw Belinda was sitting alone.” She gasped for breath. “We have other business, non-pageant business. We were discussing . . .” Voncil wiped a tear from her cheek. “We’re working together on a fund-raiser for diabetes in Gainesville, Florida. We’ve both had sad experiences with the disease, and I asked Belinda to headline an event. Please don’t ruin Belinda because I did something stupid.”

Tinkie wasn’t buying it. Her nose for news was itching.

“It’s true,” Belinda said. “Check with the Florida Diabetes Association. This is perfectly innocent, even though I did ask Voncil to leave as soon as she sat down.”

“I’ll check it out,” Tinkie said.

“Instead of picking on Miss Buck, maybe you ought to run the photo of Karrie showing her true colors as a pit bull,” Voncil said. “She’s a bitch, and she deserves to be shown as one in print.”

“But it would taint the Miss Viking Contest,” Belinda said. “Even if
we
know this lunch is aboveboard, other folks won’t. One thing I’ve learned from working in Hollywood: Perception is everything.”

Her observation was dead-on, and this gave Tinkie and me a perfect opportunity. “Miss Buck, Tinkie and I have some questions, when you have time.”

“I have a full afternoon,” she said. “I’ll have my assistant call you and set an appointment.”

“Perfect.” I too had a busy afternoon planned.

Hedy was still MIA when we returned to the hotel. A police officer stood in the lobby, no doubt waiting to snatch her up and take her to Jansen when she finally put in an appearance. Thinking I might find a clue to her whereabouts in her room, I used the key card she’d given Tinkie to trigger the lock.

The door swung wide without a sound. The room was a disaster. And empty. The suite she’d shared with Janet Menton was cluttered—and sealed off. Hedy’s new room was wrecked. With a sense of dread, I realized it wasn’t merely messy. It had been tossed. By someone either in a hurry or intent on destroying as much as possible.

This put Hedy’s continued absence in a new light.

I called Chief Jansen. Though livid at Hedy’s behavior, he calmed down when I told him about the condition of her room and my fears someone had abducted Hedy.

“Don’t touch anything,” he said. “I’ll send forensics.”

“I’ve touched the doorknob and I’m leaving the room.”

“Wait for me—”

But I didn’t. I had no time to get hornswaggled into Jansen’s investigative clutches. If Hedy was in danger, I needed to get on the trail. I called Tinkie from the lobby, and she agreed I should pursue Hedy while she found out all she could about Anna Lock, the amazingly competent nanny for little Vivian.
And
the woman who fit the description of what I’d come to call Hedy’s “stalker” at Ground Zero Blues Club.

At the hotel’s front desk, I talked with two hotel staffers, Samuel and Lonnie. Neither had seen Hedy. When I explained she was missing and I was concerned someone had “taken” her, Samuel sang a different tune.

He signaled me to follow him out to the courtyard, away from the coming and going of the lobby traffic. He stuffed his hands in his pocket, withdrew them, then stuffed them in again. “Nobody took Miss Hedy except for me.”

“What do you mean?” I have to admit, relief was sweet. I’d convinced myself Hedy had been kidnapped. Right off the bat I knew Samuel hadn’t done anything bad to her.

“She was so upset by what happened to Babs. She said she’d be blamed. She needed to hide somewhere and asked if I could help her.” Samuel almost trembled. He wasn’t the best accomplice for nefarious deeds or avoiding the law. He was flawed by honesty.

“Where is she?” I asked.

He looked at the ground and mumbled, “At my place.”

“Did you trash her room to make it look like an abduction?”

His head snapped up. “No, ma’am. I couldn’t do that. The hotel would fire me for tearing up a customer’s things.”

I didn’t have the grit to tell him lying to the police and
helping a person avoid the law weren’t pluses with an employer. But his heart was in the right place. Hedy had a way of winning people over, of convincing them to help her. I was a prime example of that.

“I need to speak with her. Where is she?”