A One-Woman Man Read online

  Tommy Lee couldn’t help himself from frowning over this woman’s naiveté, but he kept silent. It wasn’t his place to lecture Elizabeth Monette, socialite and babe in the woods, about the psychosis of anger and jealousy that usually prompted people to send hate mail and sabotage cars. “And if it doesn’t stop when we find this person and confront them?”

  “Well, we’ll go to the police then. But I need to try this my way first.”

  “And what’s your way, exactly?”

  “Discreetly ask around, I guess. Find out if anyone else who has been nominated has received letters like this. After all, I was thinking, I might not be the only one.” It sounded lame to her and under the ex-cop’s scrutiny, Elizabeth’s felt her face begin to grow hot. “I don’t really know. I just want you to stop this hate mail.”

  “Well, what do you suggest? Should I get a list of Queen of Midnight electees and ask around to see who is green-eyed jealous and crazy enough to try and kill her competition? Then I can sit them down and say ‘No, no,’ and put an end to this?” Tommy Lee leaned back in the chair, his eyes full of challenge.

  Elizabeth frowned and stood up. “I’m not an investigator, Mr. McCall. If I was, I wouldn’t be here talking to you. Of course I don’t want you to go directly to the other women’s houses. How discreet would that be?”

  He pulled at the corner of his mustache and scowled. “So you suggest what? I go talk to the maids who work at these young ladies’ houses, spread the word around the street that someone snuck up to your door with a poison-pen letter? Do you honestly think in a small town like Belle Fleur that this kind of stuff is going to stay a secret?”

  Elizabeth paled, thinking of the other matter she had wanted Dottie Betts to look into for her—one even more prone to be gossiped about if it became known. She pursed her lips together and grasped the strap of her gym bag. “You’re right Maybe we should just forget this whole thing, Mr. McCall, if you can’t handle this without creating a scandal. I’m sorry I bothered you.”

  Tommy Lee leaned forward. “What if another attempt is made to hurt you? One that’s more serious. Or more successful?”

  Elizabeth swallowed, stood and stared into his face. “I’ll deal with that when and if it happens. But I don’t think it’s going to, Mr. McCall.” She held out her hand. “It was nice to meet you. Please try to figure out some way to discreetly look into this matter. If you can, please call me at my parents’ tonight. We’re in the book. I’ll be home by six. If you can’t come up with a way to do this, then please mention this matter to no one.”

  “And if I say no, will you go to the police?” he snapped back. Tommy Lee watched as she seemed to consider her words carefully.

  “No. No, I won’t.” She walked toward the door and opened it, then flashed him the first real smile he’d seen on her face.

  It electrified him. And unsettled him. Because he would bet a girl with a smile like that was born to be Queen of Midnight, despite her view on her chances. He scrambled to his feet and grabbed the door, then followed her outside to the elevator. Suddenly unable to concentrate, he felt mentally clumsy and physically on alert, as if something was ready to ambush him. He stabbed at the round red button on the wall, and for a few awkward seconds they stood and waited.

  “When are they sealing the tally this year?” he finally managed to ask.

  Elizabeth raised her eyebrows at his depth of knowledge of the Queen of Midnight routine, but didn’t ask how he knew so much. She would assume, if he was a native Belle Fleur resident, that he’d been raised on the lore of the ball and would be familiar with the procedure whereby the votes of the nine committee members were officially counted by the Caretaker, who was the only one who knew the identity of the Queen of Midnight until New Year’s.

  “Tonight, actually. There’s a party for the debs at the mayor’s and the committee is meeting at the chairman’s home for dinner. Then a round of dances, teas and parties for the next couple of weeks. Then the ball on New Year’s Eve. But something tells me you know all that.”

  The elevator pinged and the doors whooshed open. Tommy Lee nodded his head. He knew firsthand, but tried not to remember when he’d been personally involved in that phony ballyhoo. “I’ll be in touch tonight, Miss Monette. But don’t count on my help. I’m not sure I’m going to continue to handle Dottie’s business.”

  “I’m sure you’ll do what’s right—for yourself, if not for your sister. I’ll look forward to hearing from you.” She nodded, the doors slid closed, and she was gone.

  Tommy Lee’s mouth dropped at her measured sarcasm. He stood there for a moment, then turned and let out a whistle. Elizabeth Monette might look like Alice in Wonderland, but she had a mouth like a high-school principal. He grinned, though he had to admit her implication that he was being selfish with his sister was correct. His cop instincts kicked his brain into a fast-moving scenario of what he would do if this were a police case he was investigating. Judge Monette was a high-profile, ex-federal official who probably had made a lot of enemies through the years. Had one of them set their sights on his daughter to even up an old score?

  If they had, the Queen thing could be a smoke screen. And the culprit would have to be considered a much more serious threat than pretty little Miss Elizabeth seemed to be willing to consider.

  Aggravated by the unfamiliar experience of having no “official” capacity to act on his instincts, Tommy Lee slammed Dottie’s door and hurried to the window to get a last look at Elizabeth. She was heading away from the office toward the crosswalk across from the Bonaparte Hotel parking lot where he figured she was going to catch a taxi.

  Keeping her in his sight, Tommy Lee picked up the phone and dialed the hospital. Elizabeth Monette was a fine-looking woman. Dark blue eyes full of life. A perfect complexion. Streaky blond hair thick and shiny and swishy like silk against her shoulders. She was as tall as most men and straight-backed, with curvy legs and wide hips. Not one bit fat, but shapely. Carried her weight proudly, not worried about it. He liked that in a woman.

  Tommy Lee chuckled. Too bad she was spooky as a horse with barn smoke up its nose. “Room 213,” he said into the phone, then leaned back against the windowsill to watch. Elizabeth waited by the curb and dug into her purse for a tissue. The two-minute-long traffic signal will tick her off, he thought. He decided her profile was as nice as her rear view. She definitely would fill out a bathing suit to good advantage.

  Or that empty space in your arms, a voice in his head added.

  His annoyance at the thought was pushed aside by the “Hello?” from a female voice speaking into the receiver against his ear.

  “Hey, baby, how are you?” Tommy Lee responded.

  “I feel like day-old bread, kid,” Dottie Betts replied. “Rich and Olivia are going to bring me some supper, then they’re driving home for a few days. I don’t want Olivia missing much school. I don’t know what we’re going to do for the holidays.”

  His sister’s voice sounded unusually vulnerable, almost as if she might cry—something he hadn’t heard her do in more years than he could remember. Suddenly Tommy Lee knew Elizabeth’s remark was on target. He was going to have to go through with his spur-of-the-moment agreement to help his sister out, at least until Dottie was emotionally stronger. “Hey, just rest up. You know when those twin boys are born in a few weeks you won’t be getting back-to-back hours of sleep for a long time. It’s going to be fine, darling. You just rest.”

  “I will, Tommy Lee. Are you in my office? Did you check my messages? Oh, and I think a woman named Elizabeth Monette might be dropping by any time.”

  Tommy Lee glanced back out the window. “She just left, as a matter of fact. Wants me to look into that hate mail she received.”

  “Hate mail? Did she call the police or the feds? Sending crap like that through the mail is a federal offense, you know.”

  “Yes, darling, I know,” Tommy Lee said. “I’m the cop, remember? But to answer your question, she did not call anyo
ne but me. Wants me to discreetly check around. Thinks it might have something to do with the Queen of Midnight Pageant, for which she is an electee.”

  Dottie started to laugh. “Hmm. You think maybe your ex-wife and her little sister have gotten a little more determined to bring the crown into their family?”

  Tommy Lee winced at the mention of his ex-wife as he stared out the window at Elizabeth. She was tapping her foot impatiently, but had so far honored the red light’s directive to stay put. Which showed good sense, since Government Boulevard was the widest, and usually the busiest, street in downtown Belle Fleur.

  “I doubt Luvey Rose would stoop to murder so little Tammy would be Queen. She’d be too jealous. If she didn’t risk the electric chair for herself a few years back, I can’t see her doing it for Tammy.”

  “You never know about a woman’s secret ambition, Tommy Lee.” Dottie chuckled. “I think I told you that the night you married her.”

  Tommy Lee scowled. “I didn’t call to rehash my pitiful one-year so-called marriage, Dottie. Now, what can you tell me about Miss Monette? She said she spoke to you a couple of times.”

  “She told me quite a bit concerning another issue she wanted me to look into for her. She didn’t mention anything else to you?”

  “No. So why don’t you?”

  Dottie hesitated for a moment. “Well, I guess I’m not breaking any confidences since you’re working with me now. She asked about how hard it was to trace the birth parents of someone who had been legally adopted. She never said anything about hate mail, though.”

  “Adopted? Elizabeth Monette wanted to hire you because she was adopted?” Tommy Lee asked, completely baffled. Downstairs he saw the light on the opposite corner turn yellow and Elizabeth stepped from the curb. A man on the street across from her, wearing an army-fatigue jacket and a Walkman radio, appeared to be watching her as closely as he was.

  Tommy Lee tuned Dottie out and rubbed the back of his neck. Something about the guy was familiar, and whatever it was struck a bad chord in his memory.

  Dottie’s voice distracted him again. “Yes, she knew I had luck tracing adoptees. Hers is a pretty interesting story. She said something tragic had happened to her as a child, that she had blacked out the entire first few years of her life because she’d witnessed something horrid, but that ‘repressed memories,’ I think she called them, kept reminding her of a woman she thought might be her mother. She wanted me to find out about her father because she was sure her mother was dead.”

  “Pretty damn dramatic,” he replied. “Do you think she was telling you the truth about any of it?”

  “She seemed on the level, but I haven’t had much success in checking out her story. She hadn’t yet gone to her parents about looking into the past, though she said something about knowing the name of the lawyer who handled things. Peach, I think his name was. I tried him once, and talked to Dr. Heywood’s daughter in the hospital birth-records office. There’s a file with Miss Monette’s name on it in my office, though…”

  Dottie’s voice filled Tommy Lee’s head. But before he could ask anything more, his eye caught the movement of a black sedan two blocks farther up Government. Though approaching the red light that had just blinked on at the intersection, it appeared to be picking up speed instead of slowing down.

  Elizabeth was headed for the middle of the four lanes of traffic. On the opposite side, the man with the headphones suddenly turned away and hurried up the street The sedan was now in the farthest oncoming lane, heading right for the place the blonde would be walking into a few moments from now.

  Tommy Lee dropped the phone receiver, which crashed against the side of the desk, pushed open the groaning window and drew his lungs full of air. In a piece of a second he realized that if Elizabeth heard her name, she would stop and turn around.

  And his voice would be the last thing she ever heard.

  He threw his leg over the windowsill and glanced at the ground below. He hoped it wasn’t more than the nine or ten feet it looked, hoped the thick bank of brown and woody azaleas were more comfortable than they looked, and with an eye on Elizabeth Monette, he started a quick prayer that his rebuilt left knee would hold him.

  Then he jumped.

  Chapter Two

  Henry “Cracker” Jackson, ex-Belle Fleur cop, knelt on the oil-free garage floor and carefully replaced the stolen New York State license plates with the rightful Louisiana set. He stood, favoring his left hip, and tossed the white plates to his partner, Petey Connor. Petey sat on a folding chair watching and drinking directly from a bottle of tequila.

  “Put these away, Petey. Hide them good. I think someone may have gotten the number, and we don’t want them turning up in your possession.”

  Petey nodded and stared at the tinted windows of the Lincoln. “Think the dude got a good enough look to ID the driver?”

  “What dude?”

  “That cop, McCall. The one you said pulled the bitch out of the way.”

  “I don’t know. McCall was a hotshot cop, but he ain’t no Superman with X-ray vision or anything.” Cracker walked around and stared at the driver’s side of the car. “I think she’s safe. She was wearing her ‘disguise,’ don’t forget. Ray told me he saw the whole thing—said he didn’t hear McCall give the pig on the scene any description at all, except of the car.”

  The two men shared a sarcastic chuckle over the silly hat and huge sunglasses their employer had donned before driving away in the car that nearly ran down Elizabeth Monette.

  Petey got to his feet. “She’s got company coming soon. Wants us gone. You ready?”

  “We’re not invited to her tea party, huh?”

  Petey grinned, his gold-capped front tooth gleaming, and patted the pockets of the army-fatigue jacket for the keys to his van. “No way. We’re gum on her shoes, partner. She don’t even like that we’re on her property at all, you ask me.”

  “Tough,” Cracker replied, pushing a wad of gum into his mouth. He looked across the wide, neat lawn at the rear of the elegant white Colonial home. A purple silk banner, black fringed and sporting the silver mask logo of the Midnight Ball Society slouched against a flagpole in the weak December breeze.

  Through French doors, adorned inside and out with red velvet bows, Cracker looked into the dining room where hundreds of tiny white lights twinkled on an enormous evergreen. Next to the tree, a black woman, in formal uniform and white apron, was setting a table.

  “You get the money?” Petey asked, screwing on the lid of the bottle and tucking it into his coat.

  Cracker tapped a thick, callused finger on the pocket of his jacket. “Five thousand dollars cash. But I’m still thinking maybe Ray should go over to the hospital tonight and visit.” Cracker pulled his leather gloves on and motioned for Petey to follow him. “Come on. And don’t forget those damn plates.”

  Petey nodded, a small shudder shaking through him at Cracker’s second mention of Ray Robinson, the third man in on their three-man job. Petey didn’t like Ray. Didn’t trust him. “I don’t know about old Ray, Cracker. I watched him take a big notch out of that girl’s brake line in Baltimore a couple of weeks ago. Big enough cut to have really hurt her, not just scared her like you told him.”

  “Didn’t kill Miss Monette, though, did it?”

  “Good thing. I’m not doing no time for a killing, Cracker. You never said nothing about a killing when you explained this deal to me.” Petey rubbed his jaw, where a jagged scar marked the entry of his cellmate’s blade during a prison fight three years before. The feel of the smooth scar tissue increased Petey’s anxiety. “I can’t do no more time. I can’t.”

  Cracker stared at him hard. He hadn’t said anything about a killing because that hadn’t been the plan. The original plan, that is. As he stared at his partner, Cracker considered telling Petey their employer had told him that plan might have to change, but decided against it. Petey had been drinking a lot lately. He might shoot off his mouth at the wrong time. Better to wai
t a bit.

  “Nobody’s going to get killed and nobody’s going to do no time, as long as they listen to what I say. Stop yapping. We got to go.”

  The two men shut the garage door and hurried around the back of the building to an alley where Petey had left his van. Lost in their separate thoughts, they drove slowly down the back street of Belle Fleur’s most exclusive neighborhood.

  FROM BEHIND THE UPSTAIRS curtains, the woman who had hired Cracker watched the two men drive off in the faded blue van.

  As soon as they were out of sight, she sighed and moved away from the window. Silently she wrapped her arms around her body, suddenly chilled. It was foolish of her to have agreed to drive the car today. She wouldn’t make that mistake again. After all, she was paying Cracker Jackson more than enough money to do things without making herself vulnerable to exposure, like today.

  Pushing Cracker and his cohort from her mind, she hurried out of her bathroom thinking of the only thing that mattered—the Queen of Midnight coronation, and the much-delayed glory of her family.

  ELIZABETH’S BRUSH WITH death came so quickly and was so unanticipated, that it was only after she landed, hands and knees akimbo and forehead lightly scraping the concrete foundation of the streetlight at the corner of Government and Magnolia, that she experienced fear.

  Which, when it came, flooded her body with hot shock as it filled her mind with cold, cramping terror. Before her brain could state a full sentence of disbelief, she heard the thud of another body and an accompanying groan from Tommy Lee McCall as he crashed into the curb beside her. The car that had thrown him there like so much roadkill sped off. She smelled the rubber of the auto tires and saw blood, and after those two sensations registered she cried out and crawled to Tommy Lee on her bruised and cut knees without feeling the pain.

  “My God, are you okay?”

  He lifted his bleeding chin up off the asphalt and tried to look behind him in the direction of the car that had sent them flying.