Bone Appétit (23 page)

He gave me the address, which wasn’t far. “Since you’re a hotel guest, I can drive you,” he offered.

That would leave the Caddy at Tinkie’s disposal. He went to retrieve the van key, and I waited in the courtyard. The day had grown hot, and I wished for shorts rather than long pants, but I had no time to change. The luxury of spring’s cool breezes had fled. Heat and humidity lay over the land, bringing the cotton on strong. Mississippi’s climate took a certain amount of fortitude.

Laughter drifted around the corner of the courtyard, and Voncil and Amanda Payne walked up carrying shopping bags jammed with cooking supplies and clothes. They’d had a real spree in a very short time.

“Sarah Booth,” Amanda said, “please thank Mrs. Richmond for the wonderful newspaper photo of me singing. And your friend, Miss Cece, was so kind reviewing my songs.”

“You did a marvelous job. Cece never gives praise unless it’s due.”

“I need to have a word with Miss Delaney,” Voncil said. “Amanda, would you take these things to the room?”

Amanda gathered up the bags, disappearing among the purchases. I held the door as she struggled to the elevator.

“I have some information about your client,” Voncil said quietly. She looked around as if she expected Big Brother behind a palm. “I saw her last night.”

Samuel was taking his sweet time, so I motioned her to a courtyard table. “Where?”

“Hedy and Babs pulled up in the parking lot here at the
Alluvian between one thirty and two a.m. They talked a minute, and I heard them laughing. Hedy got out of the car, and Babs remained.”

This corroborated what Hedy had told the police chief. “Babs was in the car with the door shut? You saw her?”

“Yes. Babs had some music turned up really loud, and she was rocking down. You know, sort of dancing in the car. I’d guess she was high and not ready to call it a night.”

“What were you doing in the parking lot so late?”

She rubbed the tendons at the back of her neck. “This contest is killing me. I can’t sleep. The pressure is incredible. When I get this tense, it affects Amanda. I took a drive over to Greenville to see the Mississippi River in the moonlight. I figured it would be my last chance, before we go home. I had to get out of the room or Amanda wouldn’t have gotten any rest.”

“You’ll tell Chief Jansen this?” Voncil’s eyewitness account didn’t clear Hedy, but it supported her story.

“I’m happy to speak to the chief in Hedy’s behalf.” She smiled. “On one condition.”

I’d figured Voncil for a barracuda. Nothing came for free. “What?”

“Make sure your friend doesn’t use the photo of me and Belinda. The implications could ruin Ms. Buck’s reputation as a judge. If that happens, Belinda will never forgive me. Worse, she won’t help Amanda with the Hollywood contacts she can give us, if she wants to.” She took a deep breath. “Besides, we weren’t doing anything wrong. It really was innocent. And if there is fault, it should go on me. Belinda did ask me to leave.”

“It sure looked wrong.”

“That’s why I want your word you’ll delete the photo in Mrs. Richmond’s camera. I can’t take a chance it’ll get out and be misconstrued.”

“You have my word. Now call Jansen and tell him.”

Samuel came out the door and stopped, lingering in the background. Voncil rose to her feet, assessing Samuel and then me, putting together god knew what scenario in her head.

“I’ll do it now,” she said. “Will you be at the cooking event this evening?”

“Tinkie and I both will. It’s a difficult task for the girls.”

“Amanda can sniff out the most subtle smidgen of a spice. She has a nose for seasonings and blends. That’s one of the benefits of the kind of authentic cooking she specializes in. She’s going to win this and take the title.”

If Voncil had snapped her jaws like a wolverine, I wouldn’t have been surprised. “How nice,” I said. “I’ll see you tonight.”

When she was gone, Samuel dangled the key. “I have to be back in twenty minutes.”

“Then let’s make tracks.”

Samuel dropped me in front of a quadriplex on an old street lined with oaks. It was a beautiful neighborhood of homes built in the 40s and 50s on acre-lots designed to accommodate football and games of hide-and-seek. He didn’t have time to wait and drove off as I knocked on the door. There was no answer.

I knocked again. “Hedy, it’s me, Sarah Booth. Open up. I need to talk to you.”

She came to the door, looking out left and right. “Come on in.” She almost snatched me into the apartment, then slammed the door. “How’s Babs? Is she going to be okay? What are you doing here?”

“Whoa!” I held up a hand to slow the onslaught of questions. “Babs is still in a coma, but she has the best doctor in
the state helping her. I’m here because Jansen is on the war-path and looking for you.”

“I had to think. I needed a place where no one could find me.” Hedy looked pathetic.

“Voncil Payne will tell Jansen she saw you leave Babs, very much alive and well, in your vehicle.”

Instead of the relief I expected, Hedy’s face showed doubt. “Why is Voncil doing that?”

“Because it’s true, isn’t it?” I was a tad impatient.

“Of course, but why would Voncil help me? She wants Amanda to win, and even if I’m only disqualified and not charged with murder, it would be to her advantage.”

Hedy was nobody’s fool. “She worked a bargain with Tinkie about a photo.” I didn’t need to go into details. While I wasn’t certain the Buck-Payne lunch was totally innocent, I also didn’t want to tarnish Belinda Buck’s reputation without hard evidence.

“What am I going to do?” Hedy asked. She crossed the room, which I noted was neat and orderly, and lifted the window shades. Hundred-year-old white oaks surrounded the apartment. Beyond them, the street was quiet.

“Chief Jansen needs to see you,” I said. “Go before he finds you and drags you there. He doesn’t have enough to hold you, but if you show up voluntarily, it’ll defuse his anger and suspicion.”

She nodded her willingness to comply.

“What do you know about Vivian’s nanny, Anna Lock?” I asked.

“She would do anything Marcus told her to do. Anything.” Bitterness flooded her tone. “If Marcus told her to walk through fire, she’d give it a try. Remember the nanny in
The Omen
? Well, that creature has nothing on Anna. Perfect Anna. Educated, refined, well traveled. So much better to raise my child than I am.”

“How tall would you say she is?”

Hedy gave me a long look. “Maybe five-two. Max. Why?”

“She’s in her early forties, right?” I had a lot of ground to cover, and my staccato questions made Hedy frown.

“I guess. What’s the sixty questions about Anna?”

“Bear with me, I’m following a hunch. Is she married?”

“I wasn’t around her long, but she showed no interest in men, in that way. Nothing will interfere with her living in the Wellington home and devoting her life to raising Vivian. She’s the perfect nanny.” Defeat settled into her features.

“Do you know anything else about her?”

She considered. “She lived in New Orleans and worked for a family there, the Bronsills. Marcus was all over the fact she’d been a governess to Latham Bronsill, heir of the highly prominent Bronsill family. Latham, at twenty-six, was a contender for an ambassadorship to France. Or so Marcus said.”

“Marcus is eaten up with such rarified connections, isn’t he? It’s the pond he swims in.” The New Orleans connection with Anna Lock and the whole Saulnier/Marie Laveau hogwash came to mind, but I didn’t mention it. Anna could be responsible for Marcus’s distorted view of Hedy.

There was something else I needed to bring up. “I went in your room. It’s a huge mess. So much so that I feared you’d been kidnapped. Did you leave it that way?”

“No, Janet was messy. I hated that. I keep things neat. Who would have torn up my room?”

“A better question is what were they looking for? When you get back there, check everything and see if anything is missing. I hope Jansen finds some fingerprints in your room other than the hotel cleaning staff’s. That your room was tossed is good evidence we can use to support your innocence.”
Now was the moment to clear the air about some things. “You haven’t been truthful with me, Hedy.”

She didn’t deny it, she just looked down at the floor.

“You didn’t tell me Marcus called you the night Janet died.”

“How did you find out?” She looked scared.

“The switchboard has a record of all calls. Tinkie called Marcus, so he knows we know.”

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

“Why?”

“He said I could see Vivian. He said if I stood outside the hotel, down at the end of the block, and wore a scarf or hat to conceal my face, he would drive by with her in the car.” Her voice was strained.

“Did he?”

“No. I stood there for over an hour and he never came. I just wanted to look at her.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. That one glimpse of her daughter would have sustained her for months. It made me want to kick the snot out of Marcus. While he might be able to better educate, clothe, and open doors for Vivian, he could not love her more than Hedy did. His actions were wrong.

“To get you out of your room, Marcus set you up with the only bait he knew you couldn’t turn down: Vivian. Why did you lie and tell me you went to play your violin?”

“It wasn’t a lie. I did. When he failed to show, I played for an hour or so. I write melodies for Vivian. In case I never see her, one day she’ll know I loved her.”

Now I really wanted to stomp him. “Do you know anything about a gris-gris bag under Janet’s bed? A dead chicken claw?”

She laughed, a reaction that surprised me. “Now I’m accused of mutilating a chicken?”

“Jansen is taking the gris-gris seriously. Marcus has done a good job of brainwashing the chief and some of the judges that you’re a practitioner.”

That wiped the smile from her face. “What are you saying?”

“I’m not sure. But someone is doing a damn fine job of planting evidence they hope incriminates you. Be very careful what you do and who you hang around with. Do not be alone with any of the contestants. One more coincidental connection to a tragedy, and Jansen will be forced to arrest you.”

“Okay.” She was more than contrite. She was worried.

“Come on. I’ll call a cab and share the ride back to town with you. The sooner you check in with Jansen, the quicker it’ll be over with. You have to get ready for the ‘Taste and Copy’ competition.”

I dropped Hedy off at the police department, but I didn’t go in. I called Tinkie, who’d assembled a dossier on Anna Lock. We met in the courtyard of the hotel and ordered iced tea.

An afternoon lethargy had settled over the hotel, but not my partner. Tinkie practically sizzled with an electric charge. She was excited. “I found out a lot. Anna worked as a governess for the Bronsills for five years while Latham was a high school student. Thanks to her tutoring, Latham spoke flawless French, won national recognition with his math abilities, and snared half a dozen national and international essay competitions on the economy, the U.S. Constitution, foreign affairs, and the tax structure. Latham was a certified prodigy. According to Melissa, Anna’s next act would be to raise the dead.”

“How did you get all this information?” I asked.

“I know Melissa Bronsill,” Tinkie said. “We worked a charity event in New Orleans two years ago. Lovely woman. Why she married into that family, I’ll never know.”

Oh, I knew. Old New Orleans money. Power. Prestige. Sugarcane plantation. Did I say money? Lots of women, and men, put up with connubial hell to be attached to financial security. According to Jitty, I should be so smart. My haint’s priorities were womb first, 401(k) second, but a man who could tend both areas was certainly preferred.

“What else did she say?”

“She sang Anna’s praises to the moon, and was forthcoming”—Tinkie was about to pop—“until I said I needed to find a governess and asked how to get in touch with Anna. Then she clammed up.”

“Why?” Tinkie’s energy was contagious. My partner may have stumbled on to the mother lode of information that would solve this case.

“It was odd. She was all about praising Anna, then she went cold. Said she had to get off the phone.”

Tinkie was killing me with anticipation. “But you pressed her.”

Tinkie rattled the ice in her glass. “I did. I wouldn’t hang up, and she’s too polite to slam the phone down. I kept talking. Finally, I got back to Anna Lock.”

“And?”

“She said she thought Anna had gone back to the Northeast, her home.”

“Surely she knows Anna is working for the Wellingtons. Marcus told Hedy that he’d gotten references from the Bronsills.”

“He didn’t and she didn’t. She was shocked to find it out. She never gave Marcus a reference for Anna Lock.”

“Then how did Marcus find out . . .” I saw it clearly: Anna. Anna had manipulated Marcus. “What else did she say?”

“After Latham went off to school, Anna left the Bronsills’ employ. She moved to the French Quarter and taught piano lessons. Melissa said about nine years ago something happened to Anna. Like a nervous breakdown of some kind. She was in a botanica and went nuts. She was hospitalized for a while, and that’s when she moved back to the Northeast. As far as Melissa knew, Anna had never returned South.”

“What caused the breakdown?” The hairs on my arms stood in a slight breeze.

“This is where it gets really good. Anna was interested in the occult. Melissa said Anna had lost someone very dear to her, someone she grieved for. She never said who, but Melissa assumed it was a child, because she was so good with kids, so patient.”

“This isn’t good.” I had an image of little Vivian in Anna’s arms—and Anna thinking she’d somehow found her own dead child. “Surely Marcus can’t be that stupid. . . .” But he could. He was besotted with Anna’s teaching abilities, her sophistication and education. She’d worked for one of Louisiana’s most prominent families. I doubted he’d checked further than that.

“We have to figure this out. Was she institutionalized?”

“I’ve tried to find out, but so far, no results. Medical records are private. There’s no way we can get our hands on Anna’s file. She’s a nonentity on the Internet. Other than Melissa, I can’t find anyone who knows Anna Lock.”