Thigh High (22 page)

Nessa arrived at the Dahl House in time to meet her great-aunts opening the screen door and bustling onto the front porch.

Calista wore an apron.

Hestia's lipstick was smeared.

Those signs of disarray, more than anything, betrayed them to Nessa.

She stood before the steps on the porch, in the middle of the cracked, uneven front walk, and asked in anguish, “How could you, aunts? How could you?”

“Dear, have you heard what has happened?” Hestia's scowl puckered the wrinkles around her eyes, around her mouth.

Calista slammed the screen door behind her. “Someone robbed one of our banks in costumes like ours, took a lot of money, and fired at a police officer—”

In a chorus of indignation, both aunts said, “And everyone thinks it was us!”

Nessa stood frozen, her mouth half-open, feeling foolish.

Of course the aunts hadn't robbed that bank. They would never steal that amount of money. And, remembering the white and shaken teller on TV, she knew they would never frighten anyone so desperately.

Nessa wanted to take it all back. Her anger, her sense of betrayal…the accusation.

But, thank God, the aunts hadn't seemed to notice.

The aunts came marching at Nessa, both tall, one thin, one plump, shoulder to shoulder, united in righteous anger.

Nessa fell back. “What…what are you doing?”

A cab pulled up at the curb.

Maddy came around the corner of the porch, hobbling as fast as she could. “Hestia! Calista! Girls, you can't do it!”

The aunts wheeled to face Maddy, and Calista said, “We have to, Maddy, we can't have everyone think we're violent and money hungry!”

“What are your intentions?” Nessa asked again, more urgently this time.

“We're going to tell the police the truth,” Calista said.

“Are you crazy?” Nessa shouted.

“Chère, please remember, a lady's voice is always low and musical to the ear,” Hestia rebuked.

“A lady doesn't rob banks, either,” Nessa retorted.

“Actually,” Hestia mused, “during the Depression, our Grandmother Hall kept the family out of the poorhouse and half of New Orleans fed with a little genteel larceny—”

Calista poked Hestia with a well-padded elbow.

Hestia's face turned stern again. “But that's not the same as taking the money to fulfill your own frivolous desires, which someone has done now.”

A gust of wind swirled through the yard, making bark mulch dance across the sidewalk.

Maddy got to the top of the stairs and glared down at them. “Confessing your other crimes isn't going to make the police realize you didn't do this crime—it's going to make them put you in jail.”

“We always knew it might come to that,” Hestia said. “Although not for this reason.”

“Please.” Nessa stepped up to them and put her hands on their wrists. “This won't help the police find these thieves. It'll just confuse them and…and help the robbers get away.” Specious reasoning.

Of course the aunts didn't buy it.

“Don't be silly, child,” Calista said. “Once we point out the differences between our robberies and this one, that will clarify matters for the police.”

In the distance, Nessa heard the sound of a siren. She jerked her gaze up to Maddy's dismayed face.

“The police will be able to focus on the real thieves,” Calista continued. “Let's face it, those scallywags copied our well-thought-out operation, so they can't be too bright.”

The sirens grew louder.

The sun disappeared behind a wisp of cloud, then came out again, then disappeared again.

“How do you figure?” Nessa asked through lips numb with fear. “You've been successful for years,
and
if these other thieves get caught, they can establish alibis for the times when you were robbing the banks instead of them. Copying your operation seems brilliant to me.”

“If these thieves can't even make up their own scheme, they have no pride in their work. Mere dabblers, and easy to catch,” Hestia said dismissively.

Two police cars, sirens screaming, lights flashing, came around one corner. Another came around the other corner. They met in the street, nose to nose.

Nessa fought the urge to grab the aunts and tell them to run.

Neighbors came spilling out of their houses.

But Hestia placidly folded her hands before her apron. “Look, Calista, the police have come to
us
.”

Nessa faced the street.

Two patrolmen jumped out of one car and pointed their pistols at the little clump of women in front of the Dahl House.

The cab driver got out of his cab, talking fast and furiously. “What you boys doin' to these nice ladies? Stop that!”

The patrolmen ignored him.

Looking wide-eyed and rebellious, Rav Woodland got out of the second car. He loosened his service pistol, but he didn't draw it.

Chief Cutter got out of the driver's seat of the third car…. And Jeremiah got out of the passenger's seat.

The sight of him, of his tall figure, held in stiff formality, of his stony expression, of his cool eyes, raking the four of them, passing over Nessa with exquisite indifference…she whispered, “Oh, God. Oh, God.”

He knew.

Chief Cutter strode toward them, arms swinging, trying hard to smile reassuringly and instead grimacing as if he were in pain. And perhaps he was.

Nessa focused on him, focused to the exclusion of anything else, to the exclusion of Jeremiah Mac. In a tone that splashed him with acid scorn, she said, “Cutter, I'm surprised you've got the guts to come yourself. After all, you are an elected official.”

“What do you mean?” Chief Cutter blustered, but he looked shamefaced.

Nessa leaned toward him, furious at the guns pointed their way. “You know good and well that the next cars to arrive will be the press, and they'll take photos of the police chief putting handcuffs on two old ladies and carting them away to jail.”

Just as she predicted, a car pulled up and a guy with a camera leaped out, slammed the door, aimed a long lens, and started snapping photos.

The neighbors murmured and moved closer.

Chief Cutter's eyes shifted to her aunts. “Is that what I'm going to do? Am I going to arrest you ladies? Miss Calista? Miss Hestia?”

Jeremiah walked up behind him. “Of course you are.”

“Shut up, Mac. Let the ladies answer.” Chief Cutter never removed his gaze from the aunts.

Hestia moved forward and patted his arm. “I'm afraid so, Chief, but the important thing you have to know is—it wasn't us today.”

“Oh, for shit's sake.” Jeremiah walked away as if he couldn't stand to listen. Couldn't stand to look at them.

Hestia trotted after him. “Now, Jeremiah, I know you're disappointed in us. Nessa was disappointed, too, but we had good reason for stealing from Mr. MacNaught's banks.”

Chief Cutter swiftly interrupted. “Ma'am, perhaps it would be best if you refrained from further comments until you've had counsel from a lawyer.”

Hestia sailed on without pause. “Mr. MacNaught's banks not only have the highest profit margin and so are best able to take the hits, but Mr. MacNaught doesn't give to charity. We were helping him.”

“By stealing the money and keeping it?” Jeremiah asked in steely disdain.

Thunder rumbled in the distance.

“We
give
the money away to the needy so Mr. MacNaught could receive a credit on his miserable, miserly soul.” Calista caught sight of a reporter she recognized, realized she was wearing an apron, took it off, and handed it to Nessa. Fluffing her hair, she smiled at the cameras.

“That, and the fact we don't like the man because he has been so awful to our Ionessa,” Hestia reminded her.

The Channel 26 News van pulled up and parked.

Jeremiah ignored that as if Hestia had never spoken. “Twenty thousand dollars is going to take care of a lot of needy.”

“We told you, we didn't steal the money today,” Hestia said impatiently.

Thunder rumbled again. The sun appeared, then blinked out again. From the west, Nessa could see a curtain of rain falling from a tall, gray cumulus cloud.

“Miss Calista, do you have an alibi?” Chief Cutter asked.

“Maddy was here with us,” Hestia said.

Chief Cutter glanced at the tiny black woman and shook his head.

Maddy stomped her foot, and the loose boards on the porch rattled. “What, boy? You don't believe me because I'm old? Or because I'm a woman? Or because I'm black?”

In a pleading tone, Chief Cutter said, “Miss Maddy, you know none of that's true. You know why you're not a reliable witness.”

Maddy challenged him. “Why?”

“Because you were employed by the family since before Miss Calista and Miss Hestia were born, and you've lived in the house since the hurricane.” Chief Cutter shook his head again. “No one's going to believe you won't lie for them.”

“You already have lied for them, by not telling what you knew of the previous crimes,” Jeremiah said.

Maddy rounded on him. “Mr. Mac, you must have a lot of sin on your soul to have such a nasty opinion of me. And of them.”

The neighbors nodded, and the local juvenile delinquent from down the street, Daniel Noel, lifted his fist over his head. “You tell 'em, Miss Maddy!”

The screen door slammed, and Pootie clomped out of the house, her short hair standing on end and the marks of her pillow on her cheek. She surveyed the turmoil with displeasure. “What the hell is going on here?”

“They're arresting Miss Calista and Miss Hestia for robbing the banks,” Maddy told her.

Pootie turned on her like an irate wolverine. “Pull the other leg.”

Maddy scrutinized their first, most reclusive boarder. “Look around.”

Pootie's gaze swept the crowd and landed on Chief Cutter. “You're shittin' me. Have you lost what few feeble brain cells your wife hasn't knocked out of you?”

Chief Cutter's cheeks turned a mottled red. “She doesn't beat me.”

“She oughta.” Pootie saw Jeremiah next, and something shifted in her face, a comprehension. “Ohh.”

With an authority he seldom flaunted, Chief Cutter asked, “Miss DiStefano, have you been here all day? Can you provide Miss Calista and Miss Hestia with an alibi?”

“Look at her,” Jeremiah said. “She's been asleep.”

“I'm afraid so.” Pootie didn't bother to run her fingers through her wild hair. “Can't help you.”

“Pootie stays up all hours of the night,” Hestia told him. “It's part of her work.”

“What does she do?” Jeremiah watched Pootie, but asked Hestia.

“We think it has something to do with the Internet.” Hestia anxiously watched Pootie. “She has promised us it's not illegal.”

Jeremiah snorted loudly.

Nessa wanted to smack him. He wasn't her dream man. He was her nightmare.

“We were on our way to the police station to confess, because whoever has done this, they've done a terrible wrong.” Calista waved at the cab.

Jeremiah's lip curled. It was written all over his face—he thought they'd called it to help them get away. “Arrest them all.” Now his gaze settled on Nessa, and the man who had held her this morning, who had given her a ring, who had clumsily confessed his love…had vanished as if he had never been. This man was hard and cruel and cold, a man whose only interest in her was that of prosecutor for his foe. “Arrest them
all
,” he said again.

“You can arrest Hestia and me. That makes sense,” Calista said. “But why would you arrest Nessa and Maddy? They had nothing to do with the robberies.”

“Accessories to the crime,” Jeremiah said.

Hestia laughed lightly. “Don't be ridiculous! Maddy and Nessa are innocent. Do you really think Calista and I couldn't figure out how to rob a bank on our own? Why, we were collecting mice for months before this last robbery!”

“Please don't say anything else!” Chief Cutter was in agony.

“Hey!” Their next-door neighbor stood with her toes just over the property line and shouted. “What are you punks doing with Miss Calista and Miss Hestia?”

“That's Mrs. King,” Hestia confided. “She's such a nasty old biddy—I hope she doesn't come over. She could make this very unpleasant.”

“No, we wouldn't want this to be unpleasant,” Maddy said, her voice heavy with sarcasm.

Nessa wanted to cry. The street continued filling with cars, reporters, neighbors running up from blocks away. The whole scene resembled a circus, and her aunts were the main attraction.

Yet the humiliation was nothing compared to the chill that Jeremiah's immovable presence created.

Nessa had to talk to him. Beg him…she'd done a lot of difficult things in her life. She'd kowtowed to Stephabeast. She'd placated furious customers. She'd faced the consequences when she let that teller steal the money. But nothing compared to the thick dread that filled her as she put one foot in front of the other and walked toward Jeremiah Mac.

He watched her come, his lids heavy over his green eyes.

She would have felt better if he showed emotion, any emotion, but there was nothing—no hate, no contempt, no lingering remnant of passion or love. “Jeremiah, please. They're old. They're eccentric. They didn't mean any harm.”

“I'd have to disagree. It sounds as if they meant to teach MacNaught a lesson.”

She bit her lip. “Yes, but it really wasn't much of a lesson, and it's nothing compared to what their suffering will be in jail. They don't understand what it's like in there—the drunks, the mentally ill, the lifelong criminals who will enjoy hurting them.”

“They should have thought of that before they started on their crusade to discipline MacNaught.” Jeremiah folded his arms over his chest.