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  Ground Zero Blues Club, so named because Clarksdale and the surrounding area are ground zero for the Mississippi Delta blues, wasn’t open, but the Blues Museum was. A renovated train depot housed the museum, and the staff knew Joey Mott. He had a reputation for playing his guitar fast and hard and fighting any comers while reciting Bible verses. The combination wasn’t that odd for a bluesman in the Delta.

  We located his third-floor apartment without trouble. He’d obviously been sound asleep when we knocked. He opened the door in jeans and a T-shirt advertising the merits of Howling Wolf, a famous bluesman.

  “Ladies,” he said, rubbing his stubble-covered face, “what can I do for you?”

  Tinkie told him who we were and stepped past him into the apartment, which was surprisingly neat. “We need to talk to you about last night.”

  “May I put on a pot of coffee before the interrogation?” he asked. The man had a certain level of charm.

  “Coffee would be lovely,” Tinkie said.

  While the pot brewed, we sat around a table in his small kitchen and explained why we needed to talk to him. He was happy to cooperate.

  “I saw the dark-haired woman right away,” he said. “You couldn’t miss her. But she wasn’t the friendly type. The redhead, though, she was a pistol. She knew how to have a good time. It’s a shame what happened to her.”

  “Do you remember anyone talking with them?” I asked.

  “Guys were hitting on them all over the place, but what would you expect? At first, the two of them were having a serious talk. After they relaxed, the redhead danced a few times with some of the guys.”

  “Names?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “Lots of tourists in the club. I don’t know them. If I saw them again, I might be able to identify them, but I don’t have any particulars.”

  “Did you notice if anyone took them drinks?”

  He shook his head. “I think they had margaritas. Like a pitcher. The redhead could drink. The brunette was nursing hers. Someone could have bought them a round.”

  “Can you identify the vehicle that left when they did?”

  “It was a big car. An SUV. Wide headlights. That’s what I remember. Couldn’t see the color, but it was maybe blue or black or dark green.”

  He poured three cups of coffee and set one in front of each of us. “I wasn’t paying much attention. You know how it is when something is just a little off and you think, ‘Now that’s odd,’ but you don’t really register why.”

  I knew exactly. “Was there anyone who seemed out of place in the club? Someone maybe in the background. Watching the girls.”

  He gave it some consideration and a connection came through. “You know, there was someone.”

  “Tall man, dark wavy hair?” Talk about leading a witness, Tinkie had handed him Marcus Wellington on a platter.

  He looked at me blankly. “Naw. It was a woman. Well turned out, dark hair, short. Maybe a decade older than you. She just sat back and held a drink. Never took a sip of it that I saw. I couldn’t say for certain she was watching the two beauty pageant girls, but it seemed that way to me.”

  “I don’t know anyone who looks like that,” Tinkie said.

  Neither did I. But then I wasn’t familiar with the female side of the Wellington clan. It would be just like Marcus to get a sister or girlfriend to do his dirty surveillance work.

  “Is there anything distinctive that you remember about her?”

  He shook his head. “She left before the girls. That’s what I remember. But hell, it’s not even ten o’clock. My brain doesn’t work until after lunch. Leave me a card and if I think of anything, I’ll give you a call.”

  16

  Panther Holler, a small community where the Wellingtons had built their dynasty, was our next stop. Always one to taunt the devil, Tinkie suggested that we drive up to the front door and ask to see Marcus.

  We had nothing to lose, so we drove between the rows of beautiful oaks that lined the twisting shell driveway canopied by trees and up to the house that looked like a wedding cake confection. Wide double stairs swept up to the second-floor landing to an oak door so massive that a “fee-fie-foe-fum” was probably required to charm it open. Since we didn’t have any magic beans, we merely knocked.

  Marcus opened the door, his face bloated and his shirt buttoned wrong. Whatever he’d done the night before, he was still suffering the consequences.

  “You have three minutes to clear the property,” he said, “before I call the sheriff. Cameras at the gate will tell me when you’ve left.”

  “We have questions.” Tinkie was never intimidated by money or bad manners. Since she had the first, she didn’t have to tolerate the second.

  “Take your questions and shove them—”

  “Daddy?” A young girl with raven hair and eyes so blue they mesmerized toddled up to the door. I’d never been one to melt in the presence of babies, but Vivian, a miniature of Hedy, touched me.

  “Vivian, we don’t talk to strangers, remember, honey.” He swept the child into his arms, shielding her face so she couldn’t see us. Fear was plain on his face. “Please leave,” he said to us. “My daughter needs me.”

  I’d doubted Marcus loved his daughter. I’d thought he wanted her only because he could take her. I knew better now. He loved this child. Vivian was perhaps the only weakness his heart had ever known.

  “We must speak with you.” Tinkie held her ground.

  Marcus ignored her, focusing on his daughter. “Vivian, Anna has new paints for you.” His hand caressed her dark hair.

  Vivian’s face lit up. “Paints!”

  “Anna!” Marcus called out. “Anna!”

  Vivian must have sensed his worry because her smile evaporated and she burrowed her face in his shoulder.

  “It’s okay,” he soothed her. “Daddy’s here. Everything is jim-dandy.” Still shielding her, he glared at us. “I’ve asked you nicely to go. You’ve already upset Vivian, and I want you to vacate the premises.”

  “We aren’t leaving until you talk to us,” Tinkie said. “Count on it, Marcus. We don’t want to make trouble, but we will.”

  “Just a moment.” He stepped into a beautifully decorated foyer. “Let me find Anna or my parents to watch Vivian.” He closed the door behind him.

  In a moment he returned without the child. “What in the hell do you want?”

  “You’re playing with fire, Marcus, deliberately withholding Vivian from her mother. She’s two now, but the minute she’s around other children, she’s going to start asking questions.”

  “I’ll deal with that when I have to.”

  “Lovely,” I said. “Especially since looking at Hedy will be like looking into a future mirror. She will find out, Marcus, and when she discovers you’ve lied to her and kept her away from the woman who gave her life, you’ll pay a harsh price.”

  “You tell Hedy if she continues to come here and park at the end of the driveway, I’ll have her put in jail. I mean it. She can’t do that.” Fear of the consequences of Hedy’s presence showed on his face. I realized then the brilliance of Hedy’s vigil. If Vivian so much as caught a glimpse of her, the child would know. She’d know, and Marcus’s house of cards would come tumbling about his ears.

  “Oh, but Hedy can sit at the end of your drive,” I said. “As long as she isn’t on your property, she can park on the verge all she wants.” The Wellingtons owned a lot of property, but they didn’t own the roadsides.

  “Don’t you think it would be better for the child to know her mother?” This was a sore subject for Tinkie, and she had strong opinions.

  “Maybe if Hedy wasn’t a Saulnier. Maybe if she didn’t come from a voodoo family. Maybe if she wasn’t murdering the competition in this beauty contest. I don’t want Vivian to grow up in that atmosphere. Can’t you see I’m only protecting my daughter?”

  Tinkie frowned. “You honestly believe Hedy murdered those girls?”

  Marcus motioned to some rattan
chairs on the porch. “Sit down. I’m about to collapse.”

  “So I noticed. Rough work deflowering another young girl.” I couldn’t help it. Marcus annoyed me. What I wanted to accuse him of was poisoning Babs, but if he was guilty, why alert him?

  He ignored my jab and eased into a chair. “Let me give you the story in a nutshell. I fell deeply in love with Hedy when I met her. We were at the beach. Those eyes. I looked into them once, and that was it for me. She bewitched me. I couldn’t get enough of her, and I asked her to marry me.”

  So far, his facts parallelled what Hedy had told us. “And?”

  “She got pregnant. I don’t know how. I used protection, and she was on the pill. Instead of being angry, I was ecstatic. Until the pregnancy, Hedy wouldn’t consider marriage. She wouldn’t even talk about it. When she found out she was expecting, she relented.”

  Marcus was giving us the same facts but a different spin. “Why didn’t you marry her?”

  “I brought her home to meet my parents. I knew they’d dislike her, but I didn’t care. I loved her so much, I was willing to defy them. For once in my life . . .”

  He turned away, and against my better judgment, I felt a stab of pity for him. A silver spoon could sometimes gag more than nourish.

  He continued. “They wanted me to marry money, to solidify the assets of two ‘like’ families. I’m not defending it, but that’s how they think. I hadn’t given them cause to trust my decisions on any fronts. They honestly believe the best unions are based on common cause, not love. They thought I was acting like a romantic fool.”

  “I’m familiar with those thoughts,” Tinkie said. “Did you win them over?”

  “I never got a chance. Mother was incredibly rude to Hedy. I know it hurt her, and she left. When I went back to the coast to talk to her, she wouldn’t see me. Hedy’s mother, Clara, told me to leave or I’d regret it. It was clear they intended to cut me out of Hedy’s and my baby’s life.”

  “Just as you’ve done to Hedy,” I pointed out.

  “But I’ve done it for Vivian.”

  “Sure.” Marcus wasn’t the altruistic type. Not even for the daughter he clearly loved.

  “Believe what you want. I hired a private investigator to check into Hedy and her family. My intention was to bolster my parental claim when the baby was born. I wanted to be a part of the child’s life, even if not a full-time father. When I found out about the Saulniers, I realized I had to save Vivian from them.”

  “And that’s when you coerced a new mother with no resources to sign away the rights to her child.” Tinkie barely kept her tone civil.

  “They’re voodoo practitioners. In each generation, the first daughter serves the queen, Marie Laveau. That would be Vivian’s role. She would grow up with those beliefs. It would cripple her for life.”

  I couldn’t stop the laughter. “You are kidding, right?”

  “I’m deadly serious.” The pallor of his skin proved it. “Vivian would be taught the voodoo ways if she stayed with Hedy. You don’t know the truth about those people. I couldn’t let that happen to my child.”

  I couldn’t discern if Marcus believed this or if he’d figured out how to lie convincingly. Still, his passion gave me a tiny chill.

  “Marcus, tell me you don’t really believe in voodoo,” Tinkie persisted. “If Hedy had these strange powers, don’t you think you’d be dead by now?”

  Score one for the Tink. “Yeah,” I threw in.

  “Mock me if it makes you feel better, but I’m telling you, that family has long links to practices I don’t want my daughter to know about. I don’t want her dabbling in the dark arts or thinking the way to achieve something is to call on dark forces.”

  “Certainly not when she can simply use the Wellington fortune to buy it or bully it into submission,” I said.

  “The Saulniers are dangerous.” He wiped a sheen of sweat from his forehead.

  “You are superstitious.” I was surprised. A lot of wealthy people have no beliefs, except for the power of money.

  “Not superstitious. Realistic. Whether Hedy can conjure demons or call on the dark side to help her, I don’t know. That’s not even the point. It’s a mentality, a view of life I don’t want Vivian exposed to. Not ever. So I did what I had to do to protect her.”

  “You sent a nanny to show Hedy how inadequate she was and then you browbeat a vulnerable young woman into giving up her child.”

  Marcus lifted his chin in a gesture of defiance. “I did. It may be the only unselfish thing Hedy ever did, giving up Vivian. The nanny I found is wonderful. My two-year-old daughter is already reading simple stories and playing the piano. She’s a brilliant child, and with me she’ll have every opportunity. Private lessons, the best schools, connections in any world she wants to pursue. Unless Hedy ruins it.”

  “And Vivian will never know her mother.” Tinkie hadn’t softened a whit.

  “She thinks her mother is happy and busy. That’s the best thing for her.”

  “Maybe not,” Tinkie said. “A child needs a maternal connection. It’s the strongest bond formed for most women. A surrogate or hired employee can never fulfill that role.”

  “No matter how fabulous this Anna may be, she isn’t Vivian’s mother,” I said.

  “No, she isn’t,” Marcus said. “She’s better for Vivian than Hedy could ever be.” Marcus eased from his chair and opened the front door. “Anna! Could you come here a moment!”

  She must have been close, because she came out the door in under thirty seconds. She was a short woman, small-framed and elegantly dressed. Her stylishly short haircut was shot through with slivers of gray.

  “This is Anna Lock,” Marcus said, “Vivian’s nanny.”

  Joey Mott’s description of the strange woman in the blues club stood before me in the flesh.

  Tinkie gave me a nod, acknowledging that she saw the same thing.

  “Ask her whatever you want,” Marcus said impatiently.

  “Does Vivian ask for her mother?” Tinkie asked.

  Anna hesitated, her gaze on Marcus. “She’s an unusual child,” she said. “Mature beyond her years and easily influenced.”

  “You didn’t answer the question,” I pointed out.

  “She does quite well without her mother.” Anna went to Marcus and put her hand on his arm in a maternal way. She was in her forties and though she was attractive, there wasn’t a smidgen of sexual energy about her. She was all business and all Vivian. “She’s extremely intelligent and deserves the opportunities Marcus can provide for her. I supervise her lessons, her meals, her play associates. I treat her as my own child and will continue to do so until she requires more advanced stimulation.”

  “But she isn’t your child.” Tinkie rose as she spoke. “And she isn’t a brain waiting to be loaded with ‘stimulation.’ She’s a child and she needs her mother.”

  Anna didn’t hesitate. “Marcus and I agree she should have no contact with the mother. Absolutely none.”

  Marcus had surprised me with his honesty, but he’d also troubled me. The things he’d done in the name of love would result in heartache down the road. Whatever kind of nanny Anna Lock might be, she was off.

  “Consider allowing Hedy visitation. For your sake, Marcus, as well as Vivian’s. When your daughter realizes what you’ve done, she’ll never forgive you.”

  “That’ll never happen. Hedy is going to jail. How good would that be for Vivian to meet her mother only to have the woman dragged out of her life and put behind bars?” Marcus nodded at the door, and Anna responded instantly by stepping into the house and closing the door.

  Marcus confronted us. “You’ve met Anna. She’s responsible, older, well educated. Hedy should stop worrying about Vivian and leave her future to me.”

  “When pigs fly,” Tinkie said under her breath.

  “Ladies, I have business to attend to. Tell your client to say away from my driveway or she’ll regret it.” He slammed the front door as he left us on the po
rch.

  We settled into the Cadillac with the air conditioner roaring. Tinkie looked back at the porch. “Anna could be the woman from the bar.”

  “I know.”

  “She’s a strange one, isn’t she?”

  “Strange and creepy.”

  “She’s pretty. Or she could be if she wasn’t such a dour old bat. Lessons, intellect . . .” Tinkie mimicked her priggish tone. “Do you think Anna would kill three women to put the blame on Hedy?”

  “If it meant keeping Vivian, I’d say yes, it’s a distinct possibility.”

  By the time we got back to the Alluvian, it was lunchtime. Tinkie and I decided to try the Crystal Grill, a locally famous eatery near the railroad tracks. When we entered, the delicious smells made my mouth water.

  We ordered burgers, fries, and lemon meringue pie. The place was hopping. Locals chatted at every table. We’d picked this restaurant so we could talk, reasoning that none of the contestants would risk the calories of delicious Southern food.

  I read the menu, about to drool on the table with the possibilities we hadn’t ordered, when I felt Tinkie’s foot nudge mine under the table. She nodded to a secluded corner where Belinda Buck, one of the judges, sat with Voncil Payne. They’d taken a table in an alcove and hadn’t noticed us arrive. Belinda was eating, and Voncil was talking. With great animation.

  “That Voncil never gives up, does she?” Tinkie said. I’d told her about the encounter in the hall with Harley Pitts and the petit fours.

  “Gotta love a mother who stage-manages her daughter and pushes all competition into the ditch.”

  “Amanda’s performance at the barbecue was stupendous. Seeing her in action, working the crowd, managing the entertainment aspect, as well as cooking, I think she’s a contender.” Tinkie had an eye for such things.

  “If that’s the case, Amanda may be the next victim.”

  “Or the killer,” Tinkie pointed out.

  “I just don’t see that.” Amanda weighed maybe ninety pounds soaking wet and she was quiet as a church mouse. She wouldn’t fit any profiler’s outline of a killer. “Voncil is more likely. She’s the grease that skids Amanda down the tracks.”