“What, Cinderella, you’re gonna miss your scrub brush?”
I leaned against the post on Willie’s bed. “No, I’m going to miss you, my wicked stepmother.”
Willie put down her pen and turned in her chair. “How do you know I’m not your fairy godmother?”
We stared at each other. I looked at Willie, dressed in all black, with chianti lips and eyes that would send a snake slithering back into its hole. I suddenly burst out laughing.
“Okay,” I said. “You’re the wicked stepmother with the fairy godmother heart.”
“I’d rather be like you,” said Willie. “Cinderella with the stepmother heart.”
Ouch. Was she joking? She acted like she considered it a compliment.
She turned back to her book. “Cokie will take you out to Shady Grove.”
“He’s just going to leave me out there, Willie?”
“You won’t need a car. You can walk to the grocer if you need to use a phone.”
“But what if something happens?”
“Salt the peanuts. I’m not worried. You’re a good shot. I’ll tell Ray and Frieda to watch the road for cars. You know they’re wide-eyed at night. Now, unless you want some old lech to pull the petals off your daisy, you better get out of here.”
I walked out to the street just as Cokie was dropping off a customer.
“I’d drive you, Josie girl, but I got to pick up a group of conventioneers and bring ’em over.”
“That’s okay, Coke. Did you hear I’m taking a trip?”
“Sure did. Willie don’t want you around for your momma to drag you into nothin’. She goin’ tell your momma that you’re in Slidell, helpin’ Mr. Charlie.” Cokie scratched at the back of his scalp. “Jo, I gotta ask you. How did you know that one of the wheels was off this thing? From day one, you were pushin’ me about the coroner’s report. Did you know somethin’ ’bout that Tennessee man and your momma?”
“No, I just . . . liked him. He came into the shop. He was so kind and treated me with respect. He inspired me, Coke. I don’t know many men like that.”
Cokie nodded. “Well, looks like we’ll be breakin’ in that thermos on our trip to Shady Grove.”
He drove off to pick up the conventioneers. I started the walk back to the shop, thinking about the watch. I had to get rid of it. I could throw it in a trash bin. I could take it out to Shady Grove and hide it. A car passed me. I heard the brakes hiss and the transmission shift into reverse. The shiny Lincoln Continental backed up and stopped in front of me.
“So did you get into Smith yet?” John Lockwell flicked his cigar ash out the window.
“I’m waiting to hear.”
“Still don’t know what that letter said.”
“It was very complimentary . . . and well written,” I assured him.
“I hope it mentioned your martinis.”
“No, but it mentioned my auto repair connections.”
“Running like a timepiece now. Would you like a ride? Charlotte would consider me a horrible uncle if I didn’t pick up her friend. Come have a drink with me. I have a private apartment in the Quarter now. More discreet.”
“No, thanks. I have plans.”
Lockwell smiled. “Maybe some other time.” He pointed his finger at me. “There’s something about you, Josephine. And I like the lipstick.”
He pulled away. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.
THIRTY-SIX
I sat on my bed with the cigar box in my lap. I looked at Mr. Hearne’s check. Would his wife notice that it hadn’t cleared? If I put it through now, the cops might notice the transaction and come asking questions. I looked at his signature, confident, elegant. My mind traced back to Mother in the Meal-a-Minit, pulling the wad of cash out of her purse, bragging about going to Antoine’s for dinner. They were certainly a pair. Cincinnati in a dead man’s suit, Mother in a dead man’s wallet.
I had put the check in the floorboard with the watch. I’d take them both out to Shady Grove to get rid of them. That should have been foremost on my mind. But it wasn’t. I had spent the whole morning thinking of Patrick, wondering if he would come by the shop. He didn’t. I’d have to wait to see him when I stopped to see Charlie. I watched the clock, counting the minutes until closing time. I had washed my hair and set it last night. I kept looking in the mirror and had changed my blouse twice. Suddenly I wanted to impress Patrick, look good for him.
Miss Paulsen stopped by the shop, snooping once again. I told her that I was going out to Slidell to visit Charlie and would bring back a full report. She wrote a note to Charlie and insisted upon sealing it in an envelope for me to give him. I then sold her the Shirley Cameron book and we discussed her friend from Smith who wrote historical fiction. She thought we’d get along. Miss Paulsen was interesting and kind when she wasn’t being a detective.
A letter arrived from Charlotte asking if I had received word on my application. She also mentioned that her cousin Betty Lockwell had been writing to her about Patrick, asking for another introduction. Charlotte found Betty’s crush funny. I found it annoying. I threw the letter in my desk drawer, locked the door, and headed out.
As I walked, I rehearsed what I would say when I saw Patrick. I wanted to seem comfortable, not let on how giddy I’d felt all day about the kiss. I’d let him take the lead. I listened for the piano when I arrived at the door, but the house was silent. I put my key back in my pocket and knocked.
The door opened. “Hey, Jo. Come in.” Patrick was barefoot, wearing a pressed shirt and feeding a belt through the loops of his slacks. His hair was still wet.
“You look nice,” I said, hoping for a return compliment.
“Thanks. I’ll be right back. Gotta get my shoes.” He ran upstairs.
Something smelled good. I wandered into the living room toward Patrick’s piano. I ran my fingers over the word Bösendorfer and then dragged my hand silently over the keys. Liebesträume by Franz Liszt sat on the music rack. I looked at all the notes and marveled at how easily Patrick was able to turn little black dots into beautiful music.
“I made croquettes,” he said as he came back down the stairs. “I used the recipe from the same Betty Crocker cookbook the doomed housewife bought.”
“What does it mean?” I asked, pointing to the sheet music.
Patrick moved up behind me and looked over my shoulder. “Liebesträume,it’s German,” he said.
“I know it’s German, but what’s the translation?”
Patrick closed the sheet music and set it on top of the piano. “It means Dreams of Love.”
Was he blushing? “Oh,” I said, not wanting to reveal the internal smile beaming through my chest. “How’s Charlie?”
“He’s been sleeping a lot. Nearly twenty hours a day. I have to wake him up to eat.”
“Do you think it’s the medicine?” I asked.
“I don’t know. I’m going to ask Randolph.” Patrick pulled a plate from the cupboard and handed it to me. “I was looking for an extra pillow for Charlie in his closet. I found his manuscript on the top shelf.”
“Did you read it?”
“I feel bad saying this, but yeah. I know he’d want me to wait until it’s finished. But I was dying to read it. And you know what? It’s really good. I wish he could have finished it.”
“Well, you never know. Maybe he will when he gets better,” I said.
We sat at the kitchen table to eat. I had hoped we would eat in the dining room, but that may have seemed too formal. I kept telling myself to stop thinking of the visit as a date. I had eaten with Patrick hundreds of times. But I couldn’t help it. Once I left for Shady Grove, I didn’t know how long it would be until I saw him. We started eating, and I told him about Mother.
“Whoa. Jo, that’s crazy,” said Patrick.
/> “I know it’s crazy. Dora says they want to ask Mother some questions because someone reported that they saw her with Mr. Hearne.”
“What does Willie say?”
“Willie’s making me go out to Shady Grove.” I looked at Patrick. “I don’t know how long I’ll be gone.”
“Well, that makes sense. She doesn’t want your mother to drag you into the drama.”
“I don’t know how long I’ll be gone,” I repeated. “We may have to close the shop.”
“I’ll figure something out,” said Patrick. “You could probably use the vacation. Take a bunch of the new books you’ve been wanting to read.”
We finished dinner, exchanging random small talk. I debated every other minute as to whether I should bring up what had happened in the shop.
“Say, Jo, can I ask a favor?” said Patrick. “Remember James from Doubleday? It’s his birthday, and his girlfriend is throwing a party tonight. They invited me, and I really wanted to make an appearance but . . .”
“But you need someone to stay with Charlie.”
Patrick nodded. “I’d take you to the party, but Randolph is busy tonight and can’t come by.”
“Of course I’ll stay with Charlie.”
“Aw, thanks. I won’t be long.”
I cleaned up the dishes, and Patrick went upstairs to check on Charlie. He came down in a blazer and tie.
“You look nice. And you smell nice, too.” It smelled like new cologne.
“Glad you like it.” He started toward the door, stopped, and walked back to me. He placed his hands on my shoulders and kissed me quickly. “Thanks, Jo. I’ll be right back.”
The door banged shut. I hadn’t noticed it in the bookstore. His lips were cold.
• • •
He wasn’t right back. Hours passed. I read magazines, dusted the piano, and then finally wandered upstairs to check on Charlie. I paused at the closed door of Patrick’s bedroom, resisting the urge to go in and peek around. Instead, I went into Charlie’s room. He was sleeping, a sheet pulled neatly over him. The room was clean and orderly. Medicine bottles lined the top of his dresser next to a sheet of instructions from Randolph. I opened the window a crack near the desk to get a bit of air circulating. The piece of paper was still in the typewriter. I did a double take. There was another letter.
BL
I sat on the edge of Charlie’s bed. The pale skin around his wounds was stained blood orange from Mercurochrome. I pulled back the sheet slightly. Charlie was hugging the pink Valentine box. His color was weak, and his gray hair still shaggy.
“Oh, Charlie,” I whispered, “what’s happened to you? I just wanted to give you a haircut. I’m so sorry.”
His eyes flickered open and locked on me. And for the briefest moment, he smiled. It was the same smile he gave me when I was eight years old hiding in his bookshop, the smile he gave through the front window when I was outside sweeping the sidewalk. It was the smile that said, “You’re a good girl, Josie.”
I brushed the wisps of hair from his eyes. “I love you, Charlie Marlowe. Do you hear me? We’re gonna figure this out.” But he was already back to sleep.
I woke to the smell of coffee. A blanket was tucked around my shoulders on the couch. The curtains in the living room glowed a pale shade of peach. The sun was coming up. I made my way into the kitchen. Patrick stood at the counter, still in his blazer and tie.
“Did I wake you?” he said.
“I can’t believe I fell asleep. Is Charlie okay?”
“He’s fine. Sorry, I was later than I expected.” Patrick hadn’t been to bed but didn’t look tired.
“Fun party?”
“Yeah, but I was the music monkey. They had me playing piano all night long. I’ve played enough jazz to last a lifetime.” Patrick turned and smiled. “Jo, guess who was at the party.”
“Who?”
“Capote.”
“Truman Capote? Did you tell him you loved his book, and you’ve been selling it like crazy at the shop?”
“We only talked a short bit. Mostly about Proust. He has the strangest voice, Jo, and he’s so small. He’s only twenty-five or twenty-six but was talking circles around the literati. The only person who could keep up with him was that eccentric Elmo Avet.”
“Willie knows Elmo. She calls him the Queen Bee, but she loves the antique furniture he sells her. Sounds like quite the birthday party.”
“I made you some coffee. You’re leaving this morning, right?” he asked.
I nodded.
“We’ll miss you,” said Patrick, pouring a cup of coffee.
“I’ll miss you too. You can reach me through Willie. She’ll be leaving messages for me with the grocer. And of course you can write. I left the address on the counter. Oh, I almost forgot. Miss Paulsen came by the shop.”
Patrick turned around, his face wrinkled with fear. “Again?”
“Yes. I told her I was going to Slidell to visit Charlie. She gave me a note for him.” I pulled the sealed envelope out of my purse and handed it to Patrick.
He tore it open and read it. He handed it to me.
You were never one to write mysteries, and now you’ve become one.
Send a letter from Slidell, or I’ll know this is all a lie.
Worried—Barbara
THIRTY-SEVEN
I loved Cokie’s cab.
But we weren’t in Cokie’s cab. We were riding in Mariah, and Cokie’s smile pulled clear across his face.
“Pour me another drip from that thermos, Josie girl. See, this is fine drivin’. One day I’m gonna get me a big black Cadillac like this, whitewall tires and all, that’s right.”
“This car attracts too much attention. We should have taken your cab. I love your cab. It’s so comfortable.”
“My cab’s a good girl. If she could talk, oooeee, what she seen. Now, this ain’t the route to Northampton. That’s north through Mississippi and up into Alabama. Cornbread say it’s better to drive as soon as the sun comes up and pull off before the sun goes down. I agree. You’ll stay with Cornbread’s cousin in Georgia, and he has an old aunt in Virginia if you need to stop there.”
“It’s so sweet of you to plan, Coke, but I haven’t been accepted yet.”
“You’ll be accepted. I know it.” Cokie nodded repeatedly. “You have to be.”
He turned to me from the wheel. “You got to get outta here, Josie. New Orleans is fine for some people, real good for a few. But not for you. Too much baggage that’ll pull you down. You got dreams and the potential to make ’em real. I bet you latched onto that rich man from Memphis ’cuz he fit your idea of a daddy. And I agree, ain’t no way you could turn out so good unless the other half was something fine. So you’ll be accepted, and you’ll do us all proud. You’ll sure do me proud.”
We passed the three hours talking. Cokie told me stories about his parents. His father was a white man from Canada who settled in New Orleans. He had a wife and kids and had taken up with Cokie’s mother on the side. He died before Cokie’s third birthday. Unlike me, Cokie had been close with his mother and got teary just talking about her. He loved her deeply and said she always did right by him. She died when he was sixteen. He said it made it impossible to find a wife, because he wanted a woman with the qualities his momma had. Any woman I’d suggest as a potential mate he’d reject with a scoff and comments that made me laugh so hard I nearly wet myself.
“Well, why not Bertha?” I asked.
“Now, Bertha’s nice, but she too old. I like a girl where her skin fits a little better.”
“And Tyfee?” I tried.
“Tyfee? You gotta be kiddin’. She only got three toes and sweats like a dog crappin’ peach seeds. And she’s always dyein’ that gray hair of hers with coffee grounds. Looks like dirt. No, thank you.” r />
Tyfee only had three toes. Who knew?
Cokie was picky about a mate but seemed to know exactly what he wanted in a woman. It made me think about Patrick and our awkward good-bye. He’d hugged me hard and long, like he’d never see me again. But he didn’t kiss me. He just stared, his eyes full of silence. I couldn’t tell if he was upset about me leaving or upset about Charlie.
We arrived just before lunch. Cokie stopped at Ray and Frieda Kole’s. He felt the hood of their car.
“It’s cold. They’ve been asleep awhile,” said Cokie.
Poor Ray and Frieda. I wondered what made them so scared of the dark.
Cokie set a box from Willie on their porch. It had a pot of Sadie’s gumbo, a carton of cigarettes, a bottle of muscatel, and a letter from Willie instructing them to keep an eye on me.
We pulled down the long tree-lined drive to Shady Grove.
“Now, Jo, you make sure you keep your ears wide. It’s nice and private down here, but that can also be trouble. You scream out here, no one’s gonna hear you. Not even Ray and Frieda. They’re a mile away.”
“You’re acting like there’s bears out here or something.”
“I’m not talkin’ ’bout no animals. I’m talkin’ ’bout criminals.”
I laughed. “No one wants to rob Shady Grove. There’s nothing here but furniture and old dishes.” Shady Grove was the picture of peace. A small Creole cottage with a deep front porch surrounded by moss-draped oak trees.
Cokie set the parking brake. “Now, Josie, I’m not foolin’. This business with your momma is serious. There’s lotsa people who don’t want her back in New Orleans. Willie’s smart pullin’ you out of the sizzle, but even out here, you got to be ready. Some folk might be stupid enough to think they can get to your momma through you.”
I got out of the car and pulled my small suitcase and a large box of books from the backseat. Cokie opened the trunk. It was packed with crates and boxes.
“Coke, this is half the pantry. I thought I was staying a week at most.”
“Sadie been cookin’ all night for you. You got plenty of supplies here.” He pulled Willie’s golf bag from the trunk. “Take this. You know I can’t stand no guns.”