Deaths of Jocasta (58 page)

I cursed my closed throat, wanting to apologize for my blindness and to congratulate them. For the years they had endured together and the courage to break every so-called rule for love.

Maybe I should break a few rules. Like the one I had imposed on myself about rich doctors and bayou trash.

“Are you doing okay?” Rachel leaned over the front seat to ask.

Oh, hell, I realized, that means everything I’ve told Rachel, Emma probably knows. And I’d told Rachel a fair bit, since she had a recipe that could cure everything from a hangover to a broken heart.

I nodded, trying to speak.

Rachel cut off my feeble attempt with, “Not a word out of you for the next week.”

I nodded again, not sure I could violate her dictate if I wanted to.

After we arrived, Emma insisted on carrying my suitcase up to my room and told me to take a nap if I wanted to. I demurred, intent on getting ice cream on the grocery list. I headed for the kitchen to find Rachel. Since ice cream was already on the grocery list, I underlined it three times so she would understand the importance of this particular item.

Rachel laughed, promising not only the store-bought kind, but her special homemade brand, a treat worth getting strangled for. Well, almost.

Time passed, lazy summer days of sleeping late, eating too much ice cream (is there such a thing?), and swimming contentedly in the pond. At night, Emma and I played chess. I even won a few games after spending a day or so reading and memorizing strategy books. Sometimes I listened to her practice on the piano or harpsichord. Rachel usually joined us during these private concerts. She claimed she preferred more tangible pursuits, like gardening and cooking. Once, when I asked via notepad why she liked being in the kitchen, she said, “No chicken ever called me nigger. Besides, I like to cook,” she added. “Truth be told,” she said and winked, “it’s a real hard choice between good oyster dressing (the only kind I make) and sex. Good thing I don’t have to choose.”

I nodded agreement. I could think of several encounters I would have enjoyed more had I been eating oyster dressing instead of a woman.

No less than one friend a day called. And talked to either Rachel or Emma.

Torbin left a message that he hoped I got well soon and to be sure to let me know that he never did approve of my being sick in bed. Pun intended, no doubt.

Danny called to let us know that they were throwing the book at Choirboy—Murder One. “But he’s so damned innocent-looking, he’ll probably only get manslaughter,” Rachel repeated to me. Danny also said that whenever I got back to the city, the first thing I was to do was to come over for dinner. By the end of the week, Rachel and Emma were included in the invitation and Danny and Rachel would spend half an hour discussing recipes and the latest in green growing things.

Joanne and Alex both called. Alex to say hi and that she hoped I could talk soon. Joanne the same and also to tell us that the search of Frankenstein’s apartment turned up evidence to link Frankenstein to all the murdered women, including Vicky Williams, the murdered woman left out in the woods. She had been his first victim. He had waited outside a clinic that specialized in abortions and, finding her an easy victim, kidnapped and murdered her. He kept a journal describing his actions. From Betty he had gotten a list of board members of the clinic, which gave him Emma’s address in the country. After hearing about the party and that Cordelia was going, he had decided to dump the body there. When he wasn’t caught, he took that as a sign to continue.

They had also found out why Frankenstein was so obsessed with Cordelia. When she was a resident, she had reported that a patient, who had just had an abortion for an ectopic pregnancy, was disturbed by an orderly telling her that she was going to hell because she killed her baby. The woman was quite upset, borderline hysterical. The patient subsequently identified the orderly, a B. Mahoney, and he was fired. When Sarry suggested Cordelia’s clinic as a target and Frankenstein realized it was the same Dr. C. James who had gotten him fired, he found a way to get back at her and “save innocent lives.”

The first three women, Victoria Williams, Beverly Morris, and Alice Tresoe, all really had abortions before Frankenstein gave them his butchered version. The autopsies didn’t reveal that two separate abortions had been performed in one day. Then he made his first mistake. He killed Faye Zimmer and she wasn’t pregnant. His next mistake was putting a file for Victoria Williams in Cordelia’s clinic. But he thought God was on his side and he could get away with anything.

It was, Joanne said, an ugly conjunction of hatreds.

Emma confided to me after talking to Joanne, “I’m against capital punishment, but I can’t regret the death of that energumen.” Religious fanatic. I had to look it up in the dictionary.

Cordelia called several times, mostly, I suspected, to talk to Emma about the clinic and what would happen now, since Emma was a board member. Emma did pass on that Cordelia asked how I was doing.

“Of course we’re going to rebuild,” Emma informed us after one of the calls. “The main problem is what to do in the meantime. We’re looking for a suitable building in the area to rent, but that’s proving difficult.”

I got cards from Bernie, Sister Ann, Hutch and Millie, and even one from O’Connor that said, “Get well soon. I need you to testify.”

After about a week, Emma and Rachel went back to the city for a few days, promising to return by the weekend. Though I sounded like a drunk, chain-smoking bullfrog, I could, if need be, talk long enough to call the fire department if the house burned down, making it safe to leave me by myself. Rachel left me with two gallons of homemade ice cream. I wondered if it would be enough.

I was sitting in the kitchen finishing the rest of the ice cream when they returned.

“Welcome back,” I greeted them, showing off my newfound voice.

“I see you’ve moved from bass to baritone,” Rachel kidded.

“I thought to call you, but didn’t want you talking on the telephone,” Emma said. “But since my last party out here was so rudely interrupted, we’re having another one this weekend. Not very elaborate, just a few close friends.”

“And since your friends have been calling, we couldn’t leave them out,” Rachel added.

“When are they arriving?” I croaked.

“Sometime this afternoon or evening,” Emma informed me.

“So, if you’re recovered enough, there’s a load of groceries in the car you can help with,” Rachel said.

I did, hanging around the kitchen doing all the available peon chores until the master chef chased me out, preferring to create in peace.

I ended up on the front porch, sipping lemonade, watching for arrivals, directing Emma’s friends to the music room and Rachel’s to the kitchen. It was too early for either Joanne or Danny (and by default, Elly and Alex) to get off work and get out here. Theirs weren’t the kind of jobs you could slip away from early on Friday afternoon, even in the dog days of summer.

Of course, that left me wondering if Cordelia was coming, and, if she did, what I would say to her.

After pointing Julia and Herbert in the direction of the music room, I sat back down. And watched my car drive in. My first thought was to hightail it off the porch and hide until I could think of something profound to say, something witty and passionate, but self-contained and honest (yet without risk), not to mention explanatory without being self-serving. Nothing came to mind.

Get up and go over to meet her, I told myself. You’ll think of something to say. Highly inappropriate, I’m sure, I added as I put down my glass and started walking across the lawn.

Cordelia got out. She waved at me, giving me no choice but to continue walking toward her.

“Hi,” I rasped out. So far, so good.

“Hi. How are you?” she asked, smiling at me.

“Much better. How are you?”

“I’m fine.” Then she frowned, which took me aback until I realized it was at the still discolored marks on my neck. “Bruise yellow. My least favorite color,” she commented.

Then we both didn’t say anything. She turned and opened the trunk.

“I guess I owe you an explanation,” I finally said. We both knew for what. The night I had walked away from her.

“Yes, you do.”

“Too bad I don’t have one,” I said, which was partly true. The only explanation I did have was “I love you and I couldn’t just use you for sex. It would have hurt too much to leave in the morning.” But I was afraid to say that.

She shrugged, turning back to the trunk and taking out her overnight bag slowly.

“It’s not a good one, I mean,” I fumbled. “I couldn’t just sleep with you…”

“Understandable,” Cordelia answered quietly.

“Oh, hell,” I blurted out, my voice cracking, “I’m fucking this up, aren’t I?”

“No, I think you’re doing what you have to,” she said, her back still to me.

“No, I’m not. I’m making myself…I’m not very good at this.”

She turned to face me, waiting for me to continue.

“I got out of your car because…I respect you too much.”

“You respect me too much to sleep with me?”

“Yes…No, I…Hell. I use sex, at least I have, to avoid…love. And…not with you. I didn’t want to do that. I was pretty drunk by the time we left the bar. I’m sorry if I…led you on. Danny got me angry. It was better for me to be by myself,” I finished lamely.

“Waiting for bombs on your doorstep?”

“Well…” I shrugged.

“Micky, it’s okay. We can be just friends, if you want.”

“No,” I blurted.

“No?” she answered, surprised.

“No, I…yes, let’s be friends, but…I would like to see you.” I leaned against my car.

“Aren’t you at the moment?” she asked, with her half-smile.

“I mean…go out. Maybe the zoo or something. I can be a reasonable human being when people aren’t trying to kill me. We don’t even have to hold hands. Just…give me a chance.”

“No,” she said.

“Oh,” I said, staring at our feet. Mine were ready to run across the yard. Hers were calmly crossed at the ankle.

“No,” she repeated. “If you want to see me, you’ll have to at least hold my hand. Actually,” she continued, “even that won’t do. My minimum is a protracted good night kiss. But,” she put her hand on my shoulder, “I’d prefer to do it in the street and scare the horses. Think of my reputation.”

“Your reputation?” I stopped looking at my feet.

“Yeah,” she answered. “What would people say if they knew we were seeing one another and not even holding hands?” She was facing me now, her forearms resting lightly on my shoulders. “Alex once said I was the only real lesbian nun she knew. You have no idea how out of character it was for me to put my hand on your thigh. Let alone kiss you that evening in my office.”

“Why did you?”

“I…I’m very attracted to you. I couldn’t…stop myself,” Cordelia replied, half sheepishly.

“Well, I have to admit my offer not to hold hands has a few practical problems. Like I would only be able to manage it if Sister Ann and five other nuns were always in attendance.”

I put my arms around her waist. Her elbows were now resting on my shoulders.

“Really?” Cordelia queried, a smile slowly spreading from her eyes to her lips.

“Really.” I heard a car drive in. “Danny’s probably going to show up any minute now.”

“Good. Let her,” Cordelia answered. “I think you owe me a ruined reputation.”

Never refuse a lady a reasonable request.

I kissed her. And kissed her.

For a very long time, we stood in the yard kissing each other. I was vaguely aware of more arrivals, but they were a very minor distraction. “I think my knees are getting weak,” I finally said.

“Let’s go,” Cordelia suggested, picking up her bag, one arm still around my shoulder.

“No,” I said, seeing which direction she was leading me. “Not the blue cabin.”

“That’s where I’m staying.”

“No, you’re not. You’re staying with me. In my room.” I pulled her toward the house.

“Don’t you want to be with the gang?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Why not?”

“Because, I’ve…slept with most of them.”

“So?” Cordelia replied.

“But they’ll be so embarrassed when they hear us and wonder why I never made that much noise when I was with them.”

Cordelia burst into laughter. “You are crazy,” she told me.

“No,” I replied. “I’m…in love.” There, I said it, I thought, caught between panic and pride.

Cordelia stopped, forcing me to face her.

“So am I,” she said, looking directly at me.

We started for my room.

“Well, I won that bet,” Cordelia continued. “Danny said you’d never say it.”

“Damn Danny and her interference,” I said, not really too upset at Danny. “She made me…”

“Yes?”

“Promise I would stay with you at least six months,” I admitted, as we climbed the steps to the front porch.

“You got off easy. Joanne made me promise at least a year,” Cordelia said amiably.