Herculeah Jones Tarot Says Beware (10 page)

“Actually,” he said then, surprising himself, “this friend-in-front-of-the-drugstore”—he made one word of it—“and I are looking into Madame Rosa's murder. We're beginning to think that the murderer was a young man, someone from the neighborhood.”

The mime waited.

“He might be someone whose mother had consulted Madame Rosa. The mother was afraid of the son. He'd threatened her with a knife—”

At that, the mime threw back his head and laughed. And he didn't just pantomime laughter. He roared.

The effect was so startling that Meat moved back some more.

“I'm sorry, but that tears me up,” the mime said.

Meat shrugged. Now the tables had turned, and it was the mime who spoke and Meat who was wordless.

“You must not know my mom.”

Meat shook his head.

“In about a minute you will.”

They waited in silence, then the back door of the house was thrown open. A loud voice yelled, “Bertram, you out there?”

“Yes, Mom.”

“Well, get yourself in here. Supper's ready. I mean now.”

“Yes, Mom.”

The mime looked at Meat. “That woman has never been afraid of anything or anybody in her whole life.”

Meat nodded. “I can believe that.” He lifted one hand in farewell.

He walked down the alley and met Herculeah in front of the drugstore. “This is exactly where you were supposed to be,” Meat said.

“I followed you. I saw the mime glance in a store window. He knew you were following him, and I was worried.”

“Well, you don't have to worry anymore.”

“Why not?”

“Not about the mime anyway. The mime's mother did not consult Madame Rosa. The mime's mother isn't afraid of anything.”

They started for home together.

As they walked, Herculeah said, “I think we're overlooking one very important thing.”

“What's that?”

“Madame Rosa saw something at the flea market that really scared her.”

“Yeah, scared her to death,” Meat said.

“Tell me what that man said again.”

Meat thought for a moment. “I'm not sure it will be word for word.”

“That's okay.”

“He said she came running out ‘like the devil himself was after her.' Those were his exact words. Then he said he stopped her. He asked if she needed help. He said she was as white as if she'd seen a ghost. She muttered something about a knife, and he asked if somebody had pulled a knife on her. She gave him a look he said he'd never forget. Then she said, ‘No, but they will.”'

They walked to the end of the block in silence.

Meat glanced at Herculeah. He said, “Maybe we ought to go back to the flea market and talk to the man again, try to find out what happened.”

“I don't have to,” Herculeah said. “I think I already know.”

The phone rang.

Herculeah crossed to her mother's desk and picked it up. It was after office hours, but sometimes clients called her mother at night.

“Mim Jones's office,” she said.

There was a silence.

“Mim Jones's office.”

Again there was no answer, but for some reason Herculeah did not hang up. She waited. She could hear soft breathing on the other end of the line. It made her uneasy and yet she still could not make herself hang up.

After another long moment, a faint, hauntingly familiar voice said her name, “Herculeah.” It was a voice from another world, a voice from the dead.

For a moment Herculeah couldn't speak. Now it was her quickened breathing that went over the line.

This was the voice Herculeah had heard that night in the hallway. In her mind she again saw the. cloaked figure.

When she was finally able to speak, she said, “This is Herculeah.”

There was another pause. Herculeah knew the caller had something more to say. All she had to do was wait.

“This is Madame Rosa.”

Although that was what Herculeah had expected, she found herself shaking her head in disbelief. She reminded herself that Madame Rosa had a voice that was easily copied, that this couldn't be her. Madame Rosa was dead. But the voice on the phone did not sound like an imitation. It sounded like Madame Rosa herself.

She forced herself to speak. “I don't believe you. Who are you really?”

“I tell the truth. I am Madame Rosa.”

“No. Madame Rosa is dead,” Herculeah said in a flat voice, as if to remind herself. “I was the one who found the body. I saw you.”

“You saw a dead woman. I grant you that.”

Herculeah waited.

“But the dead woman was not me.”

Herculeah exploded. “It was. I saw you, saw her. Your shoes, your long hair, your—”

“But did you take a really good look. Did you?” A pause. “I thought not. Did you lift the hair and look at the face?”

“ No. ” “If you didn't see the face, how can you be so sure?”

“It had to be you. I know it was. My father said it was, and he's with the police.”

“The police, they can be mistaken like everybody else. The body that you saw was that of my sister.”

“I don't believe you.”

“My sister, Marianna. Is true.”

“I don't believe it.”

“Is it so hard for you to believe I am alive? I'm your friend.” The voice was wheedling now. “You should be happy your friend is alive.”

“I don't know who you are, but you're not my friend. I'm hanging up and calling the police.”

“Wait. Give me one minute. I tell you what happened. One minute is all I ask. Then you hang up all you want to. Call anybody you want. Police. Anybody.”

Herculeah hesitated.

“You are still there, Herculeah?”

“Yes.”

“You will listen?”

“I'll listen, but—”

“That day, that terrible day, someone come to my house. He come to kill me, but my sister was there. My sister and I just alike—long hair, long noses. My sister opened the door.

“The man never give my sister a chance to say she not Madame Rosa. Or.maybe she say it, and he don't believe.”

There was a pause.

“And whoever kill my sister—Herculeah, believe this—whoever kill my sister, when he find out it is her dead and not me, he will come after me.”

Herculeah lowered herself into her mother's chair.

“This time there won't be a sister to give her life for me. This time he will succeed. This time he kill me. You want that to happen?”

Herculeah could not answer.

“I have to get away. I don't want to die, Herculeah. Don't let your friend die!”

The rising desperation in Madame Rosa's voice gave Herculeah a feeling of desperation, too.

“But why are you, calling me? What can I do? Why don't you call the police?”

“The police.” Her tone was scornful. “The police cannot help in matters like this.”

“Yes, they can. My father would help you in a minute.”

“Your fadda cannot help me.” Her voice lowered. “Only you.” It was a plea.

“But what can I do? I can't do anything. My parents are furious at me already. I had to promise never to go in your house again.”

“The house.” More scorn. “You don't need to come in the house. I wouldn't ask you to do anything against your parents.”

“What then?”

When Madame Rosa spoke again, her voice was almost businesslike.

“You have Tarot.”

“Yes.”

“You have him at your house.”

“Yes.”

“Then, it is simple. You know I will not leave without Tarot. He has been with me since I was a little girl of four. Even if the murderer find me and kill me, I not leave without my Tarot. That's all that I want you to do. Bring me Tarot.”

“Why don't you come get him?”

“I show my face on this street, I am as good as dead. You will bring, yes?”

“Where are you?” Herculeah asked.

“I am in back of my house. I have packed my things. I am ready. You come, bring Tarot, and I am on my way.”

“But—”

“I beg of you. Just this one last favor, and I am out of your life forever. I beg you, I beg you. I wait for you, Herculeah. Please help me. Do not fail me now.”

And the line went dead.

Herculeah dialed Meat's line. “Busy,” she said to herself. She glanced out the window at his house.

She waited. She dialed again. “Get off the phone. I need you!”

She made a decision, put down the phone, and quickly climbed the stairs to her room. She stood for a moment in her doorway.

Tarot was on his stand by the window. He cocked his head and looked at her.

“Beware! Beware!” he said.

“I wish you knew some other words.”

Herculeah sighed, pulled herself from the doorway, and crossed the room. Her head was full of questions. Was Marianna the living relative Madame Rosa had mentioned? And what of the sister's son? Was he living ? Nothing made sense. That was why she wanted to see Madame Rosa—or find out who was pretending to be her.

“Come on, Tarot. Let's go.”

She put the bird on her shoulder. “I've got to get Meat to go with us. I called his house, but the line was busy. I'll try again before we leave. He won't want to come. He hates that house. I do, too, but—”

Tarot's wing brushed her cheek as he flapped. The air he stirred around her face smelled of feathers and dry seeds.

“If Meat doesn't answer, I'm going to stop by his house. Then the three of us are going to Madame Rosa's. I thought she was dead, but now I don't know. I wish my mom was home. I would call Dad, but it's his poker night, and I don't know where they're playing. If all she wants is the parrot ...”

Herculeah dialed Meat's phone number. Still busy. She hung up the phone and went out the front door. She crossed the street and knocked on Meat's door. Meat's mother opened it and stepped back with a gasp.

“What are you doing with that awful bird?” she asked. “It's that woman's bird, isn't it, that witch? I recognize it. Get it off my porch. I won't have that bird anywhere near me.”

“Is Meat home?”

“No, I am happy to say Albert is not at home. He's not at home, so you can't get him in any more trouble.”

“Do you know when he'll be back?”

“If I knew, I wouldn't tell you.”

Meat's mother turned her head to the side and looked at Herculeah from under her heavy brows. “Are you in some kind of trouble?”

“I don't know. I don't think so. Maybe.”

“Well, I can't stand here talking all night. I'm on the phone. Long distance.”

“Tell Meat I came by. Tell him ...”

Meat's mother closed the door before Herculeah could think of a message, and Herculeah went down the stairs. She took them one by one, hesitantly, as if she didn't want to proceed.

With these same slow steps, she walked down the sidewalk. She paused at Madame Rosa's gate. Herculeah had a deep feeling of dread, of something about to happen.

“Madame Rosa,” she called at the gate.

There was no answer.

The house was dark. It had an empty, deserted look, as if whoever had lived here had left a thousand years ago, instead of a few days ago.

Herculeah pushed open the gate. She glanced over her shoulder, remembering that when she and Meat had entered, a police car had cruised by. Unfortunately, there was no police car tonight.

Herculeah left the gate open behind her. Keeping away from the shrubbery, she made her way to the side of the house.

“Get ready, Tarot, because when I see her, I'm throwing you in her direction and taking off. Madame Rosa?”

No answer.

“Madame Rosa.”

Herculeah took a few steps around the side of the house.

“I am here.”

Herculeah turned., The figure had come out of the shrubbery behind Herculeah, cutting off Herculeah's exit to the street.

“I've got the parrot,” she said in a rush.

She could see a black-robed figure in the small patch of moonlight that filtered through the old trees, but she couldn't see the face. Her heart began to pound in her chest.

“Yes, I see. You have the bird.”

Herculeah paused, judging the distance, the time it would take to rush past this black figure.

“Come, bring him to me.”

Herculeah moved sideways. The bird fluttered on her shoulder, and Herculeah put up one hand to calm him.

In that moment, Tarot saw the figure against the shrubbery. He screeched, “Beware! Beware!” and beat his wings furiously.

Herculeah froze. She knew that Tarot never cried “beware” to Madame Rosa, only to strangers.

And Herculeah knew that whoever it was coming toward her wrapped in Madame Rosa's cloak, it was not Madame Rosa.

Herculeah stepped back. On her shoulder, Tarot's talons clutched, pinching her flesh. His wings beat anxiously against her face.

“Who—who are you?” Herculeah asked. Her voice trembled. Her throat was dry.

“I tell you. Madame Rosa.”

“ No. ”

There was a pause.

“Madame Ro-sa,” the voice said again, this time in a sly, teasing way that turned Herculeah's blood cold.