Someone Bad and Something Blue (22 page)

 

I
found Giselle Brown's home fifteen minutes from State Road 129 South on a red clay road a few miles from one of Uncle Pete's stills. (No wonder he knew this place so well.) I had rented Ms. Claudine's white tented Cadillac Deville to take the trip here, so that I didn't look like an out of towner. Before I hopped out of the car I caught a whiff of pond water. There was a large pond whipping through the Spanish moss and oak trees that framed the entryway to this place. As I walked toward her front porch I could taste the salt in the air.

In hindsight I should have asked Maxim to come with me here instead of having an Echols County sheriff hang back around the fork in the road. Maxim wouldn't let me out of his sight unless I agreed to have an LE tag me.

After Maxim took me back to the B & B last night I dug a little further into Giselle and Biloxi's past. I found that she was also the indemnitor of an old bond for Biloxi back when they were in their twenties. It was one of the few court dates he actually appeared at. From what I knew of men, especially men like this, they wouldn't honor the bond unless they honored the woman who put herself on the line for the bond. She was special to him and for whatever reason she was still devoted to him, but she was married to Graham Brown. Perhaps Biloxi and Graham did not get along, because Bill and Giselle had a history. That was the only thing that made sense, because Giselle's behavior was classic jail wifey behavior. A jail wifey was a woman who was either the girlfriend or wife of a habitual jail inmate. Their relationship consisted of conjugal visits, commissary payments, and having to do favors for her man's inmate buddies. I wondered if Sean's affinity to bail people out came from her. This story was getting too juicy.

I didn't share my jail wifey theory with Maxim or that I called her before I came, because I knew he would have been furious with me. Yet, I feared Biloxi might be here, somewhere lingering around, watching her mourn over the loss of her relative. I could have at least shared that hunch with Maxim.

Nonetheless, I had my Kahr hidden underneath my shirt, to help me out, in case Biloxi did appear. Anyway, I would find out soon enough. My only consolation was the fact that I learned in my four years of hunting. I had never been asked to visit an indemnitor's residence and then to find my fugitive chilling inside, waiting for me. My gut told me he was near, but I didn't expect to see him, not until he finished what he started. I suspected Rosary had a part in that plan or that Rosary wasn't in danger from him at all anyway. But if the latter were true then Maxim would be right. She was the rat all along.

I hopped up the steps then stopped.

Her front porch was old, wooden, and painted white with rose vines sketched in whimsical places all around it. I observed it and marveled at the detail. I had been in my home for three years now and still hadn't completed my English garden wonderland in the back nor Bella's princess tree house, and especially my bedroom. It was just as bare and boringly beige as it was when I moved in.

I placed my hand over my eyes and squinted to see if I could see anyone moving inside. “Hello? Is Miss Brown here?”

Then I heard a rustle from behind. I spun around and pulled my gun out at the same time. I pointed it at the noise. I held my breath until I saw there was no threat.

A young-looking, slender woman with flowing gray hair, wearing tortoise shell rimmed glasses and an A-line floral dress, stepped back into a rose bush.

“Ms. Brown?” I asked.

“Who else could it be, Miss Crawford?” she said. “I thought you were coming to talk, not kill me, else I would have disinvited you when I had the chance.”

“Reflex. Sorry, Ms. Brown.” I lowered my gun, then looked her over. “You're going to hurt yourself if you don't watch your step.”

“You say that as if you're talking to yourself, not to me.” She grinned, then glided from where she stood as if she knew where every rose thorn was. “Call me Giselle.”

“Call me Angel.” I extended my hand.

“I only allow friends and people I trust into my home, so either give me a hug or continue staring at my door calligraphy.”

“Yes, ma'am.” I hugged her, but made sure she couldn't feel me up and find my pepper spray, knife, or where I hid my gun.

However, I found myself enjoying the smell of mint juleps in her hair.

She released her hold of me. “Before you leave I'll give you a bottle of my shampoo, since you seem to like it so much.”

If I weren't so brown, I'd swear my cheeks glowed pink. “My condolences about your . . . I'm sorry. What relation is Sean to you exactly?”

She took my hand. “When you called me I assumed you knew. I'm Sean's mom.”

I would have fallen off her steps had she not been holding me up. “His mom's name is Marla. I've met her before.”

“Marla's my sister. It's a long story. Come inside before my family returns. Then I can't talk about it. You know how family can be,” she said.

“Where are they?”

“Most of them are in Atlanta helping Marla with the funeral arrangements.”

I nodded and looked around the grounds. The sheriff's car was within view. I smiled in his direction to let him know that I was okay.

Giselle coughed. She must have noticed my feet glued to the floor. I was still numb from the bombshell news she just gave me.

“I'm not getting any healthier, Angel. Let's go.”

Once I stepped into her home I realized Giselle was an illusionist, whether she wanted to admit it or not. From the outside her home looked like a charming, off-the-beaten-path bungalow hidden with a purpose to keep Georgia's unique architectural history alive. As I walked from the porch to the foyer, I soon realized that the only thing aged in this house was her silver hair. Hardwood floors and Japanese and East African accents meshed with modern minimalist furniture. She had an artist studio in the sunroom with a lot of bird cages. From the looks of it, she was a bird cage designer. I remembered seeing a birdcage in Sean's office and at Flappers. I think she designed the furniture, as well.

She motioned for me to follow her into a living area. She lifted a tray of lemonade ice tea and mint juleps off a table and continued walking.

“Before I make my confession, I would like to know why did you leave your esteemed career to chase troubled people?” Her voice had a bit of grit and honey in it.

“Tired of harboring other people's secrets.” I looked at her. “You can identify with that.”

“Touché.” She sat back and smirked. “It's a shame what happened to your brother-in-law. Did finding his killer and clearing your sister's name bring you and your sister closer?”

I didn't shift in my seat. “Don't believe everything you read in papers. Trust me.”

“You two don't get along?” she asked.

“We do, but it's never the way I want. There are limits and I don't know why.”

“Limits.” She nodded. “Marla and I aren't twins, but I understand what you mean. Although my sister raised my son, I still hurt that he's gone just like any mother should. Unfortunately, I made a mistake that she won't let me forget.”

There was a sadness in her eyes that reminded me of myself. I checked my watch. I had promised Maxim I would bring Giselle back in three hours. I had about ninety minutes left, including the drive back.

“Giselle, why was your sister raising your son?” I asked.

“I was fifteen; she was twenty-one. She was married and I wasn't. She had a good reputation and I didn't then. Best decision I ever made. Look how Sean turned out.” She sipped her tea.

“What about Graham? Why would he agree to this?”

She frowned. “Our brother was the one who arranged the adoption. What do you mean?”

“He's your brother?”

“Of course, he is. Who did you think he was?” She looked at me intently, grinned, then slapped her leg. “Honey, you're not a good comedienne and this isn't
Flowers in the Attic
. My brother is Sean's uncle, not his father.”

“Then who is?”

She looked at me. Tears fell down her cheeks. “It doesn't matter anymore. Now does it?”

“Well, I think it does.” I stood up. “You're going to think I'm crazy, but I would really like you to come with me now.”

Her eyes widened. “What? Where? And why would I do that?”

“I think you may be in serious danger.”

“Honey, I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Have you been watching the news? There is a manhunt for the man who killed Sean. The manhunt is down here. The killer is down here, probably coming for you.”

“Oh, I don't watch the news and neither should you.”

“This isn't in the news, yet. I'm working with the marshals to bring Sean's killer in.”

She turned toward me. “Is bounty hunting taking a recession hit? I thought that job was pretty much guaranteed. Your uncle will have a cow, if he heard that.”

“I'm not afraid of Uncle Pete, but you should be afraid of what will happen if I don't move you and your family somewhere safe. By the way when will your relatives return?”

“What has that Congresswoman done now? Do they have Marla hemmed up in Atlanta? What's going on?”

“Don't get overly excited, Giselle. I know you're weak.”

She looked at me then squinted. “Why do you think I'm in danger? Is this because of the congresswoman? I feared the job was more dangerous than Sean let on, now he's dead, and we are left to grieve like cockatiels in a cage.”

I placed my arms on her shoulders, to comfort her. “Giselle, it wasn't Sean's job as Congresswoman Turner's aide that got him killed. It had something to do with his restaurant bar and a gentleman you had quite a past with.” I took Biloxi's picture out of my coat jacket and handed it to her.

She took the photo and handed it back to me. “Leave my house.”

“Excuse me, but this man, a man you knew for some time, murdered Sean.”

“Leave.”

“Ma'am, he murdered your son in a very brutal way. Yet, you're not angry about it?”

I paused and looked around the room again. A bottle of Sean's signature specialty brand from Flappers sat on a coffee table and beside the bottle sat a silver baby rattle with Lucia engraved on it. I gasped. “Lucia? You know Lucia?”

She grabbed the rattle and placed it in her pocket. “Before you go I want to tell you the truth about Biloxi James.”

“Where's Rosary?”

“It would change your mind about searching for him.” She continued as if she hadn't heard me.

“Giselle . . . ? Where is my friend?”

“Biloxi did not kill Sean.” She shouted at me. “He wouldn't. He couldn't if . . .”

I nodded. “Maybe you can straighten all this out at the sheriff's department office, but I need to know where Rosary and Lucia are.”

“I should have told him. I should have told him who he was a long time ago, but Marla and Graham. . .” she said between coughing spats.

“He who?”

She coughed louder, stumbled and began to hyperventilate. I lunged forward to catch her and pulled my phone out my pocket.

I called the sheriff who was waiting outside. “I need an ambulance NOW.”

 

W
hen we were children Ava and I had spent most Sunday afternoons at South Georgia Medical Center. Aunt Mary was a part-time ward clerk on the weekends. While she worked, she would either drop us off at the South Georgia Regional Library or Skate Rink. Between
Peanuts
movie marathons, summer reading, playing Pac-Man roller derby, and chasing moonshine marauders with Uncle Pete, we had our Sunday dinners here.

As I watched EMS wheel Giselle to triage, the memories of those good times flooded me. I found a quiet spot in the lobby, sat in one of the burgundy lounge chairs, and called Uncle Pete to find out if Aunt Mary had returned.

“I have nothing else to give you, Angel, and you better not have messed up my trucks,” Uncle Pete mumbled.

I shook my head for thinking he would sound civil when I called. “Where's Aunt Mary?”

“She's not here,” he said, then hung up.

I pulled the phone from my ear and looked at it. “No, he didn't.”

“No, you didn't,” Maxim growled from behind me.

My knee twitched. I turned around slowly. “What's wrong now?”

“You were supposed to be bringing Ms. Brown to me, not to the hospital. Explain yourself.”

Maxim was dressed in his U.S. Marshal formal gear, well, his version of it. He had his badge serving as a belt buckle and wore a dark pair of jeans and a blue, long sleeve, golf shirt. His U.S. Marshal badge was etched on his shirt across his left breast. He carried his Stetson in his hand. He wore no jacket.

I walked toward him. “Maxim, you're not going to believe what I found.”

“Found?” He scowled. “I'm not believing you at all, right now.”

“Hold on, now. I was doing my job. I went to get her. She didn't want to come. She—”

“This isn't bail recovery, Angel. They don't have a choice.” He lowered his head and sighed. “What am I thinking? You're not one of us. You're not even done with Uncle Deacon's course.”

“Will you let me explain before you start with the insults?” I hissed. “Giselle Brown is Sean Graham's mother.”

He grabbed my arms. His brows furrowed down to his nose bridge. “Please tell me you're joking.”

“After you just insulted me . . . why would I joke with you, let alone not walk out of here and let you look like the jerk you seem to always rise to be. And take your hands off me.”

He held me with his arms and eyes for a few seconds before he released me. “Angel, put yourself in my shoes.”

“That's not why you asked me to join your team, yet I've done more than the rest.”

He cleared his throat. “Are you sure Ms. Brown is Sean's mother?”

“If you don't believe me, get a written request from Marla or Giselle yourself.”

“Giselle's sister adopted him?”

I nodded. “Yes and Graham Brown wasn't Giselle's husband. He's their brother. You may need to have a seat before I tell you who Sean's father really is.”

His eyes wondered as if he was thinking and then they brightened.

He gasped. “Do you think he knows?”

I shook my head. “Or he's more demented than I thought.”

“Did Sean know?” He shook his head. “Never mind. The only person who could tell us is Rosary and who knows where she is.”

“There was a baby rattle at Giselle's with Lucia's name engraved on it. I think she's been there or is there . . .” I thought about it and then snapped my fingers. “Giselle said that her family would be coming back soon.”

“Do you think?” he asked.

I bobbed my head. “Call someone. Rosary's there!”

A nurse in Hello Kitty scrubs came out to greet us. “We're taking Ms. Brown into a room upstairs. With her weakened heart we want to observe her overnight. Ms. Crawford, she would like to see you once we have her settled in.”

I turned to Maxim. “Can I stay?”

“You have thirty minutes with her before I speak with her. Meanwhile, I'm sending Sanchez here to watch Giselle overnight. When she gets here I'm escorting you back to Folkston. You will write up a report of what happened here and stay there. I can't have you acting on your own for anything else.”

“And what about Rosary? Shouldn't I be the one to—”

He tilted his head, clutched his jaw, and placed his hands on his waist.

“Right. No more acting on my own,” I said and then mumbled, “Although you gave me the go ahead to see Giselle.”

The nurse cleared her throat.

Maxim waved his hat in the nurse's direction. “After you, Ms. Crawford.”

Giselle sat in her bed with a hospital night gown on and the sweater she wore in here. I felt guilty when I met her eyes.

“Giselle, I didn't mean to upset you this badly.”

“If I felt that way I would have asked you to come.” She smiled and patted her hands on an empty spot on the bed.

I sat beside her and she grabbed my hands. “Are you sure what you said is true?”

I could feel Maxim's presence behind me. I pointed behind me. “Giselle, this is Marshal Maximus West. Maxim for short. I don't want to offend you or make your heart flutter again, but I want you and your loved one's safe. Do you mind him being in here, too?”

She shook her head. “No,” she whispered.

Her hands trembled.

“Giselle, perhaps you should get some rest and we do this another time,” I said.

She squeezed my hand and smiled. “No, I can't rest until you help me understand this. Did Bill kill our son?”

“Most of the evidence provided to us points in that direction. I'm sorry.”

“And you're here to either put Bill in prison or kill him?” she asked.

“Yes, Ma'am,” Maxim said before I could.

I turned toward where he stood and gave him the side eye. He didn't have to be that short.

He stepped forward and shook Giselle's hand. “Nice to meet you, Ma'am. I hope my frankness didn't offend you.”

“No, Sir. There are too many more pressing things that got my nerves bad right now.” She patted her chest and shook her head.

“Ma'am, I'm going to step outside for a short minute, while you and Ms. Crawford chat. I need to call Deputy Marshal Sanchez. She'll be sitting with you until your family joins you. She'll also be escorting you to a safe location.”

She looked at me then at Maxim. “I don't know her. I know Angel. I want Angel to do that. She can't do that, Marshal?”

“I'm sorry, but I need her with me. Don't worry, you'll be in good hands.” He grinned, revealing those super white teeth, and then left the room.

She shrugged. “I don't know about that . . .”

“He's right, Giselle. Sanchez will take good care of you. She's been taking care of me, so I vouch for her.”

“Sounds like they have you on a short leash.”

“Yes, Ma'am, they do, but I kind of need to be,” I said. “Since we don't have much time and you need to rest very soon, we need to get this straight. The more you can tell us the better the outcome will be for Bill and you could help us save other lives, as well.”

“That's why I asked you to come up.” She nodded and sat back against her pillows. “I've made enough messes. It's time I clean them up. I know you understand that, Angel.”

“Tell me about you and Bill and how everything got so screwed up?”

She grinned. “When I was young and beautiful like you I thought I was ugly. Black women were told they were ugly a lot back then no matter your shade, your size, your hair texture. Honey, if I knew then what I know now . . .”

She chuckled and looked down at her hand. She wore a ruby diamond ring on her right hand. Maxim returned to the room.

“I met Biloxi James back then. The first words that came out of his mouth were ‘you're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen.' Not black woman, but woman. I knew from the moment that he owned me.”

A shiver ran down my left side when she said “owned.” “You sound like an emotionally raped mistress referring to her master.”

“It was more like the other way around. I called the shots and he would do whatever I wanted.” She giggled for a few seconds then immediately stopped. “It was the early sixties, not that long ago to me. Down here Biloxi and I couldn't marry, although interracial marriage bans were ruled unconstitutional in '67. We tried, but this was Georgia. Sometimes we have trouble with the federals telling us what to do.” She winked at Maxim.

He chuckled.

“Down here it was against society, so we definitely couldn't have children together, cause then we would be caught. Yet, I had to have him, mind and body so . . .” She looked out her window and paused for a few uncomfortable seconds. “Sean came and went.”

“My condolences, Ma'am,” Maxim said.

“Marshal, Biloxi's not some man you hunt down and bring back to rot in a prison. He's fire. He's ice. He consumes.”

“I still don't understand why you would have Lucia's rattle. Are you related to Rosary, too? She said she was living at her aunt's.”

“Sean made Rose family and to him I'm his aunt. I never told him. The family didn't either.” She began to cry. “He knows now I'm sure.”

Maxim folded his arms over his chest. “Why would he send Rosary to you?”

“Her family didn't like black people, especially old moonshiners like us. They threw her out when Lucia came. As fair skinned as Lucia is those people refuse to see themselves in her.”

I gasped. “Lucia is Sean's baby?”

She leaned forward. “I guess Sean learned how to keep secrets from me, because you looked stunned. Sean didn't tell you about him and Rosary.”

“No, Ma'am. But if he had he would be alive right now.”

“I know.” She nodded. Her tears fell fast now. “And if I had told Bill . . .”

“I'm not sure if the outcome would have been different,” Maxim said. “The love of your life has become a bitter man, who has done very bad things to people, including the people closest to him.”

I held her hand. “I think you need to rest now. Do you want me to call the nurse?”

She shook her head. “I want you to get Rosie and the baby. I don't want anyone else hurt and when Bill finds you—and find you he will—tell him that Sean was his son.”

“You don't want to tell him yourself ?” I asked.

She smiled. “Angel, I know it's been a long time since you've been here, but this is the hospice floor. I'm dying.”