In the Midnight Rain (18 page)

"Yeah. Like Marcus said, she and Doc were good friends. He's probably the one who got her in."

Ellie put her hand on the table and wondered if it might once have felt Mabel's hand, thinking of the girl in the picture, so full of sass. "What could have happened?" she mused aloud. "I just don't understand how she could have made it to the very threshold of everything she'd ever wanted—and then just walked away."

"You haven't found anything in the letters?"

"Oh, I've found a lot of great detail about her life that I didn't have before, and I'm getting a fuller sense of her personality—but that's what's odd. Her attitude in the letters is exactly what I expected. She wasn't about to let anybody or anything get in her way, but it wasn't a hard-edged thing. She really had a sense of humor about everything."

"I really think somebody killed her."

"Maybe. But it seems like kind of a hard murder to cover up."

An edge of his jaw hardened. "Not in those days. Not a black woman. She could have disappeared anywhere, anytime in half a dozen states and nobody would even have blinked."

Ellie shook her head. "No. Not Mabel. By that time, she was becoming very well known, and she was especially beloved in the black communities she visited." She raised her eyebrows. "Not to mention, she didn't make a move without some gallant helping her do it. Men adored her."

"Maybe she ran off with some man, then."

"I don't think so, somehow. There's not really any evidence to show she loved any of those guys in return. Not a single name comes up in her letters more than once or twice." She turned her glass, puzzling over it. "My gut says she walked away. That it was her choice."

"But why?"

"That's the twenty-thousand-dollar question. I can't find
anything.
There had to be something, some trauma or secret or bad love affair. Something, you know? But I've documented all but about six weeks of her entire life, and there doesn't seem to be anything out of place."

Marcus sat down. "Those women can talk, man!"

Blue said, "When is the six-week gap?"

"In mid-fifty-two, a few months before she disappeared."

"That seems significant."

"Talking about Mabel's disappearance?" Marcus asked.

Ellie nodded. "Do you have any theories?"

"Marcus always has a theory."

"As it happens, I do," Marcus said, undaunted. "Think about it. When a man loses it, the thing that sends him over the edge usually has to do with pride or honor or some blow to his manhood. All those people jumping out windows when the stock market crashed, or when it comes out they've been wearing women's underwear for years."

Blue said, "What about over a woman?"

Marcus shook his head. "Nah." At the same moment, Ellie said, "No, a man tends to kill his woman."

"Right," Marcus said. "A man gets dramatic. But a woman, now—a woman punishes herself out of guilt of some kind, or love. I can't see that Mabel had anything to feel guilty about, so it almost had to be love."

Intrigued, Ellie leaned forward. "You think she was punishing herself?"

"What else?"

"You don't buy the theory that she might have been murdered, her body dumped and never found?"

"Nope. She walked around with a thirty-eight in her handbag, and she'd been all over the country for years in some very rough places. She knew how to handle herself." He gestured for a new drink. "I reckon something ate her up inside."

"I like that," Ellie said. "Maybe it was guilt
and
love—maybe there was a love triangle or something. Or she disappointed her lover so much that she caused him to do himself some harm."

"No way," Blue said. "Mabel had more men than she knew what do with. I could buy guilt on some other level, but not love. She wasn't the type."

Ellie smiled at the annoyed sound in his voice, and it occurred to her they were all talking about the long gone blues singer as if she was a friend of theirs. She had that effect on everyone, it seemed.

Which was what made her such a good subject for a biography.

"Don't reject anything," she said. "If I've learned anything about piecing lives together, it's that nearly everyone has a weak spot, and something to hide."

Blue looked at her with an oddly serious expression. "I'll remember that," he said.

Ellie remembered the picture he had not asked her about.

"Maybe," he said, "Doc will know something."

"I hope so. Maybe I'll go back through my notes to see if there might be some possible hidden love affair, too. It makes sense in a weird way."

"I still say you're barking up the wrong tree," Blue said with a stubborn grin. "But it's your time to waste." He motioned to the waitress to bring them another round. "And I'm going to change the subject, since I don't want to get into an argument with a beautiful woman."

Ellie smiled. "Good idea."

"How's the memorial coming along, Marcus?"

"It looks like we're gonna make the Fourth of July ceremony. Slabs were delivered last week, concrete is poured, and they got the pavement up to build the park." His face showed a weary expression. "Maybe once it's done, things'll settle down around here. Connie Ewing gives me a dirty look every time I see her." He shook his head. "I really thought people would be glad, especially somebody like Connie. I wanted her to talk at the memorial, and she turned me down flat."

"Speaking of Connie," Blue said, "we saw some pictures at Rosemary's of a bunch of you having a picnic somewhere."

Ellie went still. She didn't even look at Blue for fear she'd give herself away, but she was grateful to him for bringing it up, for sensing that she needed answers that were found in those photos, and being kind enough not to press her to tell him. Under the table, she touched his leg and he put his hand on hers in acknowledgment. When she started to move away, he pressed her hand down on his thigh and kept it there.

"A picnic?" Marcus echoed, frowning. "Who was there?"

"You and James and Connie, Rosemary." He paused. "Annie, when she was about six." He glanced at Ellie. "You remember who else was in the pictures?"

Oh, he was clever. By forcing her to recount the ones she remembered, he would have a clearer idea of which ones interested her. "None of the names." She lied without a twinge of conscience. For a split second, she wondered what order to put the faces in, to conceal which ones mattered to her, then just blurted them out the way they came to her. "A guy with a goatee, a cowboy-looking kid, a woman who looked like a hippie, another black woman ..." She shrugged, as if it didn't matter. "That's all I remember."

Marcus looked stricken. "That was the day before we left." Instantly, he looked twenty years older, his face drawing in, his mouth sober and sad. "Damn. I'd really like to see those pictures." As if remembering where he was, he lifted his head. "But it just breaks my heart all over again." With a smile that was both rueful and sad, he said to Ellie, "My best friend and I joined up on the buddy system. I came back and he didn't. Guess I never have got over missing him."

Under the table, Blue stroked her hand. "You never talk about him, you know."

"Don't I? Humph." A half shrug. "Knew him from the day I was born, just about. His grandma raised him, and she was meaner than a mad dog, so he camped out with me all the time."

"You loved him," Ellie said impulsively.

Marcus raised his head. "I did. But you know what? So did everybody else. He was one of the most genuinely good people I've ever known. And charming. He could have been president with all that charm." He seemed to drift a moment, thinking, then made a dismissive sound. "Water under the bridge now, I guess."

Blue said. "Why is Connie so mad? And why would you want her to talk, anyway? Her husband died of cancer, didn't he?"

"It's not about her husband." His mouth tilted on one side as he remembered. "You shoulda seen Connie in those days. Lord have mercy. She was built like"—he halted with a wry glance at Ellie—"a goddess and had this saucy little way and everybody for a hundred miles wanted her bad. But she'd been going with Bobby since they were twelve, and she didn't give anybody else the time of day."

"Which one was he?" Blue asked.

Ellie knew. The rusty-haired boy with the guitar and goatee. Bobby Makepeace. She worried silently that he might end up being her father. Or might not.

"Why did everyone join the Army?" she asked, then realized how it sounded. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. But when we were looking at that picture and half the boys in it were dead, it broke my heart." Delicately, she slid her hand from Blue's leg, and he let her go. "It seems like such a waste now."

"It was a waste, Ellie," Marcus said. "The only two in that picture that made it home were me and Binkle, the asshole."

Blue laughed. "Binkle, in case you're wondering, is a smarmy engineer who spent the whole war in Okinawa and now wants to be Mr. Patriotic and get misty-eyed over the whole thing."

The band was reassembling, and Alisha sat down. "Oh, let's not talk about the memorial tonight, please?"

Marcus picked up her hand and kissed it. "We're done now." To the others, he remarked, "Alisha's suffered through enough of it, trust me."

The band made noises and launched into sexy cover of "Mockingbird." Ellie closed her eyes. "I love this song."

"Me, too," Blue said. "Come on and dance with me."

She thought of all the reasons she wanted to. How good it would feel to be held, to feel his body against hers. She imagined what it would be like, swaying in the circle of his arms. With as much honesty as she could muster, she met his gaze. "No, thank you," she said quietly, and added an ego balm. "I'm not the greatest dancer."

He nodded. "Another time."

* * *

On the way home, Blue was quiet, and Ellie, dazzled and tired and maybe a little melancholy, simply let the wind blow her hair as she gazed out the window, smelling river and cow dung and pine. Again, the depth of the darkness struck her as they wound the tiny road back to his property. They didn't pass a single car, but then it was late, almost two.

He drove to the cottage and turned off the car. Into the silence came the whistling of a million crickets.

Ellie roused herself. "Thanks, Blue. I really had a great time."

"Let me get your door."

Before she could protest, he was out and walking around, so she gathered the shoes she'd slipped off, and waited for him to swing open the door. He put down a hand for her to grab. "Oh, I do love a gentleman," she teased.

He smiled, very faintly, but said nothing.

She gripped her shoes to her chest. "Is something wrong, Blue?"

A half beat more of silence, then, "Nothing a good sandwich wouldn't cure. You hungry? I could fix us some BLTs."

"Hmmm." Truth was, she was always hungry, and even more so after the long night after only a salad for dinner. She inclined her head. He had not made an untoward advance to her all night. She thought she could trust him, and there was something . .. lonely about him now. "As it happens, BLTs are my very favorite sandwich."

"Really? Is that a yes?"

His surprise and pleasure touched her. She nodded. "Will you wait a minute and let me change my clothes?"

"Sure."

It only took a few minutes to shimmy out of the dress and stockings—heaving a sigh of relief—and toss on a clean pair of shorts and a tank top. April sat in the middle of the living room when she came out of the bathroom, waving her tall hopefully. Blue stood over the desk, the picture of the group at their picnic in his hand. He put it down when he saw her, and Ellie expected a question, but he just said, "You ready?"

"Yes. Can April come?"

He grinned. "Sure."

It was the first time she'd been inside the house, Ellie realized, and it was a far more appealing place than she would have expected. Blue insisted she sit down at the table while he hustled up their sandwiches, and in her pleasantly inebriated state, she admired the cleanliness of the room with its painted-ivy border and white eyelet curtains. It was a cheerful room with a long line of windows down one side, but not quite the tastes she would have expected from Blue, who—by the way he moved—didn't mind spending time in the kitchen.

It was easy to admire him, too, tall and lean in his jeans and white shirt, his hair a little tousled and showing gold streaks from his outdoor work. There was, as far as she could see, not a single thing wrong with the way he looked. "You know," she said lazily, "you probably would have won that cover boy contest."

He shot her a devilish expression. "I'm real pleased to know you think so, Miz Connor. A man would be hard put to know what you thought about anything at all unless you told him."

That drawling, rich-boy bourbon voice pooled in her belly, but she tucked a foot up under her and lifted one shoulder with as much ennui as she could express. "You don't need me to tell you how gorgeous you are. I have a feeling every female in the world has been telling you since you were old enough to walk."

He chuckled, and added sliced tomatoes to the sandwiches he was building on toast. "Miracle Whip okay? Lanie won't buy mayonnaise, never has."

"Fine. Lanie is your aunt, right?"

"Actually, she's my great-aunt. My mother had an apartment built for her, in the basement so she could have some real sense of privacy, years ago when she lost her husband. She's pretty much looked after me for all my life."

"She took care of you when your parents died."

A nod. "Yeah. There was a night nurse, but Lanie was pretty much the one. When I went to college, she went to live in town, but after I got back from college, she came back here." He put the plates of sandwiches down on the table along with a jug of cold, sweet tea he poured into tall glasses of ice.

Her stomach growled in anticipation and she shot Blue a grin. "Looks great."

"Well, dig in, sugar. I'll wait for you like one hog waits for another."

It was a singularly pleasant meal. A breeze came in through the windows, cool as it would be for the next twenty-four hours, and the quiet eased her tense nerves. She liked the way he tossed tidbits to the dogs, Sasha and April, who both waited with ears alert and paws politely stretched before them, like matching statues, for those bread crusts. "Watch this," he said, and tossed a piece of tomato to Sasha, who caught it in midair, then settled and let it fall off her tongue to the floor. He laughed.