A One-Woman Man Page 5

  “I know, Mama. But it’s not such a big deal like when you were young—”

  “Shut up, Rosellen. Don’t you see that if a girl’s been Queen, she has that honor to recommend her for the rest of her life. She’s set. She was Queen. Queen! Queen of two cities, Queen of the whole county. Can’t you understand the significance of that yet?”

  Rosellen looked down at the soft mauve carpeting. “Yes, Mama, I do. I just won’t be able to bear it if you’re disappointed. I couldn’t live with that.”

  “Well, that’s one thing you won’t have to live with. Believe me, I’m doing everything I can to make sure that won’t happen. Now, that’s enough of this talk.” India took a deep breath and reached up to correct an errant hair on Rosellen’s head. “Hurry and get ready.”

  Rosellen smiled, but without any conviction. The child was upset, India could see that. And if she could see it, then the others could, too. Which just wouldn’t do. India felt in the pocket of her silk skirt and pulled out an unmarked prescription bottle and popped off the lid. She poured two tiny white pills into her palm and handed them to her daughter. “First, take these. They’ll calm you down. We’ve got to make sure everything’s perfect tonight, especially you.”

  Unenthusiastically, Rosellen took the pills from her mother. “Whatever you say, Mama.”

  “And wear those diamond ear studs instead of these silly little pearls you’ve got on now. You’ve got to sparkle, child. Mama can do only so much.” With that comment, India hurried downstairs, leaving her daughter staring into space.

  Once out of her presence, India no longer thought of Rosellen. Her mind was fully absorbed with her guests, all leading members of Farquier County society. She wondered how many of them had daughters who didn’t seem to have a clue just how important, and necessary, it was to be named Queen of Midnight when it was your rightful God-given turn to reign. One more thing wasted on the young.

  She shook her head. Her mother had made certain she understood the importance of it. They’d dieted for a whole year when it was India’s year to be nominated. Both had lost enough weight to be size fives with nineteen-inch waistlines.

  But India had lost, and her mother had never forgiven her for not being Queen.

  Her face flushed with the shame of it. She knew people still whispered that her mama had died years before her time because of the scandal between India’s daddy and that Elaine Gibbs woman. The killing of Gibbs’s husband, even though her father had proved self-defense, had robbed India of her crown. Her mother had threatened to kill the girl named Queen instead of her daughter. That caused another little brouhaha that was blown totally out of proportion. Her mother wouldn’t have hurt a fly, everybody knew that. It was spite that got her sent away to the hospital.

  Spite and Malice.

  Well, those two handmaids of the Devil weren’t going to rob Rosellen, India swore as she blinked away tears and hurried into her kitchen.

  Some day Rosellen would understand. When she had a daughter of her own. Then she would see that sometimes a mother had to be willing to do things—whatever it took—to see that justice was meted out.

  Even murder? a voice taunted inside India’s head.

  “Whatever,” India whispered, having proved already that she was a much stronger woman than her own mama had ever been.

  DOWNSTAIRS IN THE emergency room of Belle Fleur General, the afternoon traffic was thinning out. Only one patient remained in one of the curtained cubicles lining the examination room.

  That one patient had a visitor who also wanted the complete details on what had happened out on Government Boulevard a few hours before.

  “Not so fast, Tommy Lee. Hold on a minute.” Frank Foley, the skinny chief of the Belle Fleur Police Department, licked the point of his eraserless pencil. “You say the car was a black four-door sedan with New York plates and tinted windows. Did you get any of the numbers?”

  “No.” Tommy Lee moved his lower jaw and tried to sit up, then glared at the IV stuck in his left hand. “I didn’t catch any numbers but there was some kind of parking decal on the left rear fender. Silver circle, with a seal of some kind.”

  “I understand you told Patrolman Duval in the ambulance that it looked like the car made a deliberate attempt to hit the girl. Is that true?”

  “Yes.”

  Foley made an impatient noise. “Tommy Lee, I’m surprised you’d say something like that to Duval. You know his sister Binnie works for the Press Register. This damn story, starring a young lady I hear is in the running to be Queen of Midnight, is going to be splashed all over the front page tomorrow. You trying to give Belle Fleur as much bad publicity as you can?”

  “Maybe the story will knock the debutantes back into the nineteenth century where they belong.”

  Chief Foley grinned. “All right, now. You know as well as I do that the Midnight Ball and New Year’s Festival are the biggest moneymakers Farquier County has. Ain’t nothing wrong with those gals and their mamas making a big fuss about it. It helps everyone, even you.”

  “Right. My ex-wife gets to buy a dress that I pay for with my disability cheque. That’s a huge benefit to me. That and the strings of plastic beads I find in the bushes of my sister’s house that the festival float-people throw with their drunken aim.”

  “Don’t be disrespectful about the floats now, Tommy Lee. Remember, I ride on one.” The chief glanced around him. “As do most of the doctors in this place. You’d better be quiet or they’ll remove something from you by accident.”

  Tommy Lee grinned. “Don’t all you boys have to keep it a secret that you’re members of any of those float “societies”? I always thought the real reason for that was that you were a little nervous admitting how much you all enjoyed wearing glitter and masks and makeup.”

  “Just stop your teasing, Tommy Lee. I’m here to talk to you about this hit-and-run case, not encourage your twisted sentiments about the Queen of Midnight Ball or any of the festivities.”

  “Whatever you say, Chief.”

  “Right,” he replied in a sarcastic tone. “Now, you told Duval you thought the car sped up. You’re sure the driver wasn’t maybe having brake trouble? Maybe he didn’t see the light go red?”

  “Yeah. What about the guy I saw watching Elizabeth from across the street? I’m telling you, it wasn’t any damn accident.”

  “So you say.”

  “So I say. I know. I was there.” Plus, Elizabeth Monette had told him about her other “accidents.” His heart pounded in his ears as he pictured the lovely young woman lying bloodied on the street. He clenched his jaw and reminded himself there was no way he could bring up any of what he knew about Elizabeth Monette’s other close calls without opening the “confidentiality” can of worms Dottie had warned him of.

  “Okay. So give me a description of the guy you saw standing on the street.” Foley made a scoffing sound but resumed writing.

  “Five-foot-eight or -nine, skinny, maybe one hundred twenty-five pounds. Black hair, dark skin. Maybe a scar on his chin. Wearing a pea-green fatigue jacket with a red patch on the pocket, blue jeans and scuffed running shoes. Italian or Mexican, I’d guess. Had on headphones to a cassette player, or something.”

  “Something?” The chief stopped scribbling. Tommy Lee winced. He knew the chief thought highly of Tommy Lee’s great natural instincts for knowing something was getting ready to happen before it came down. Some of the men on the force said that it was because Tommy Lee had a bit of Cajun blood and could smell trouble like it was swamp gas. Foley thought it was something different called “talent.” Many a time, he’d said Tommy Lee McCall was the most skilled cop he’d ever worked with.

  “Something like what?” the chief asked.

  “I don’t know for sure, but it could have been a walkie-talkie, or a phone, even. My take now is that I think he was talking to the car. Directing it. Telling them where Elizabeth was.”

  Foley swore softly. “Sounds pretty sophisticated for little old Belle F
leur, unless this gal is a Mafia princess or the President’s daughter, or something. As far as you know, is Miss Monette any of those things?”

  “She’s in the running for Queen of Midnight. That’s real important, according to you.”

  “This is serious, Tommy Lee. Maybe the girl’s involved with drugs.”

  “She looks more like Alice in Wonderland than a drug courier.”

  Foley ignored the statement. “You heard that Cracker Jackson’s been spotted back in town?”

  “He’s out of jail already?”

  “Yep. Bad cops do the minimum time required, just like all the other slimeballs we send away. I’m wondering if we should look him up. Ex-cops are the first place citizens go to hire a hit on someone.”

  “You think Miss Monette’s a hired hit?”

  “Don’t you?”

  Tommy Lee avoided the chief’s eyes. The first thing he was going to do when he got out of this bed was ask Elizabeth what story her parents had given her about her birth relatives. Maybe a clue there could explain this whole mess. “Might be worth someone’s time to have a talk to old Cracker Jack, but I never saw him anywhere around today.”

  “You said the guy with the headphones was familiar, though. Any name coming to mind?”

  “No. Maybe. Roy. Ray, maybe. I’m not thinking real clear.” Tommy Lee put Elizabeth Monette out of his thoughts for the moment and flexed his left hand into a fist with a grimace. “Chief, can you call Katie Smiths back here and tell her to get this damn thing out of my hand. I swear, I told them there was no reason for this in the first place.”

  “Hang on, son. You’ve been in here enough times to know it’s standard procedure for them to do a drip on a possible internal-injury case. Dr. Smiths will be here when she’s good and ready. Told me she had to check Miss Monette first. Which is what I should do as soon as we’re through. Now, what about the driver of the car?”

  Tommy Lee closed his eyes and pictured the car. The windows were tinted, but when he’d swerved his body away from the racing hulk of metal, he had the impression of a hat and sunglasses. “Might have been a woman driving. Can’t be sure. Couldn’t pick the sucker out in a lineup of one, though.”

  “Too bad.” Foley snapped his notebook shut. “I guess they’ll keep Miss Monette overnight”

  “Good. I shoved her pretty good. She’s probably calling her lawyer right now.”

  “Look out. son.”

  Tommy Lee chuckled. “Wouldn’t be the first woman to drag my sorry hide before a judge.”

  “Or the last.” Foley laughed and shook his head. “I don’t know about your way with the ladies, son. Miss Monette was shook up good when they brought her in, but she did ask about you. I’d be real surprised if she didn’t realize by now you saved her life.”

  “All in a day’s work.”

  “Right. All the ex-cops I know jump out of second-story windows to save strange women from hit-and-run hit men.” The veteran cop folded his arms across his narrow chest. “What’s the story with this little gal, anyway? She told Duval her family moved back over to Fairbreeze after living in Maryland for several years. Also told him she was on Government Boulevard because she’d had an appointment with your sister.”

  Tommy Lee managed a shrug despite the pinch in his arm. He knew his body was overreacting to being in the hospital, but there was nothing he could do to stop the little flames of panic from flaring up inside his gut. He wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead and beat down the memories of when he’d nearly died in the same emergency room.

  He forced himself to meet Foley’s sharp gaze. “She’s looking for some information about her relatives.”

  “Information she needs to get from a private detective?”

  “I guess so.”

  Foley stared harder. “I know we Southerners have a reputation for eccentric families, but that sounds pretty odd, you ask me.”

  “You’ll have to ask her if you want anything more,” Tommy Lee retorted.

  “Why’s that? Is the rumor I hear you’re taking on Dottie’s practice true? You claiming client-detective privilege on me, son?”

  Tommy Lee scowled. “No. If I can’t work as a legitimate cop, I’ll stick with my oyster business. So if you want any more of Miss Monette’s story, you’d better go ask her, or her daddy.”

  “Who’s her daddy?”

  Tommy Lee had a bad moment wondering if he had revealed something privileged, but decided the matter of Elizabeth Monette’s parents wasn’t going to be kept quiet long. He also realized Foley wasn’t going to like his answer one bit. “Baylor Monette of Fairbreeze.”

  “Judge Monette?” Foley bellowed. “I thought his only child lived in the East.”

  “She did. Until a couple of weeks ago. Poor choice of relocation, it looks like.”

  “Hellfire, Tommy Lee. Why didn’t you tell me this before? I’m going to have all kinds of people on my ass, once Judge Monette gets wind of this. You never were any good at handling the public-relations side of being a cop, you know that?”

  “I know.”

  “Does Duval know who her daddy is?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Well, that’s one small favor.” He took a step to leave, then turned. “I’ll give you a lift, soon as Doc Smiths says you can go. Your leg’s not busted, is it?”

  Tommy Lee stared down at his jeans, which had been slit from hem to mid-thigh on his left leg, and rapped his knuckles against the exposed knee. “Nope. Cut up like hell from those azaleas under Dottie’s window, but I didn’t break anything.”

  “Ribs?”

  He felt the adhesive on his right chest. “Naw. Just pulled a couple of muscles.”

  “What about the bullet?”

  The chief’s question was spoken quietly, but the words seemed to roar in Tommy Lee’s ears. The bullet Foley asked about was a piece of a .38 slug embedded in the bone behind Tommy Lee’s right shoulder blade, three quarters of an inch from his spine. It had been fired a few months ago from a gun held by one Petey Conner, a local piece of work Tommy Lee had come upon in the parking garage of the Bonaparte Hotel. Petey hadn’t taken to being surprised in the middle of holding up a couple from Indiana.

  Petey had gotten away in the tourists’ 1992 Cadillac.

  Tommy Lee had gotten away with his life.

  But he’d lost his career because of a disinclination on the part of the police department’s medical review staff to allow him to continue on active duty. The bullet could move—and paralyze or even kill him—at an “inconvenient time,” they’d argued.

  “Regulations,” the mayor had said in a phone call to Tommy Lee, breaking the news.

  “Lawsuits,” Chief Foley had offered, by way of consolation.

  “Crap,” had been Tommy Lee’s response on both occasions.

  But he knew there was nothing he could do about any of it, then or now. Tommy Lee cut his eyes away from Foley. “Nothing on the X ray shows it has moved. Hooray. Hooray. I think Smiths was disappointed. She keeps telling me she’s already bought a dress for my funeral.”

  “That was a damn fool thing to do today, man.”

  Tired and hurting, Tommy Lee felt his temper flare at his old friend. “I don’t need you to tell me how to live my life, Frank. No one’s paying you to do that anymore. I’m retired, remember?”

  “It seems I remember that better than you do,” Foley replied. “I’ll get one of the patrolmen to bring your truck over from Dottie’s parking lot and leave it out here for you. You stay put, though, until I get back. I just might drive you home myself.” The chief stalked off like a hunting dog who had lost his duck in the smoke.

  “Don’t bother. I’ll walk home,” Tommy Lee called after him, but his voice sounded more tired than angry. He loved the wiry old cop like a father. He knew it had pained Foley when the forced-retirement ruling had come down—almost as much as it pained him to have lost his job as a cop.

  Trouble was, even though he wasn’t employed as a
cop, he still felt and thought and instinctively acted like one. With a sigh, he stared at the clock on the wall opposite his bed. It read 4:47 p.m. He wondered if Elizabeth Monette had gotten herself something to eat. One of the three things she’d said to him from the time he had knocked her down to the time she had been wheeled away into the cubicle next to him was, “I’m really hungry.”

  The second had been, “Your boot is in the street”

  The last was, “Thank you. I really owe you.”

  That remark, accompanied by her gentle fingers pressing a kiss onto his bruised face, was particularly nice. Tommy Lee grinned and felt his equilibrium restore itself a bit as the anxiety over the bullet finally took a step or two back into his unconscious.

  Nothing like having a pretty woman thank a man. Especially that woman. She was special, with a oneof-a kind type of sweetness.

  It never hurt to have a woman like Elizabeth Monette owe a favor. He could think of a few ways he’d like to collect it, once the blond beauty was back on her feet.

  With a grin, Tommy Lee glanced back at the clock and wondered where that pain-in-the-butt Katie Smiths was. He was hungry now, too. He wanted out of this place. He pulled on the IV tube. The yank was repaid with a pain like an eel bite that didn’t budge the needle at all. He decided to lie back and wait

  To his surprise, it felt good. Tommy Lee closed his eyes to shut out the pain and the past, but not before remembering how soft Elizabeth Monette’s hair had felt when it had brushed against his face.

  Chapter Three

  “What are you doing here?” Tommy Lee asked, holding the door of Elizabeth’s hospital room open with a bandaged hand. His torn jeans flapped around his banged-up left leg like a banner and his cowboy boots clicked against the tile floor. He walked toward Elizabeth’s bedside without waiting for an answer from her or his ex-wife, whose glee at finding herself smack in the middle of his private life was obvious.

  Luvey was sitting cross-legged on one bed, and Elizabeth was lying on her side on the second bed, facing the red-haired nurse. The two women had been giggling over empty dinner dishes as if they were a couple of sorority sisters at a slumber party.