Mind Reader (24 page)

He lifted a hand. “Guilty.”

“Yes, you are. Now, dial the phone, Parker.”

He didn’t move a muscle. “Who are you calling?”

“Ina.”

“What’s Decker’s neighbor got to do—”

“Humor me,” she told him. “I’ve got a...a hunch.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?” She’d expected, at the least, one of his grunts.

“I have hunches, too.” He shrugged, then grabbed the
phone and passed it to her.

When Ina answered, Caron greeted her.

“I was wondering what happened to you, child. You ain’t
got pneumonia, have you?”

“No, I’m fine.” Caron nudged the receiver Parker held at her ear. “Ina, what’s Decker’s sister’s name?”

“Linda. I told you that when you and Parker—”

“Linda what? Do you know?”

“Oh, my. I’ve heard it, child, but this old mind ain’t
what it used to be. I could ask Lily Mae. She’ll recall. Her mind’s like a steel trap, takes everything in and spits it out
whenever she wants it.”

Caron tensed. “Is it Linda Forrester?”

“Yes, yes. It surely is.”

“Good.” Caron smiled and nodded to Parker.

“Did Linda ever have a little girl with her when she came
to visit Decker?”

“No. She’s not one for kids. I thought I’d told you that.”

“You did, Ina. I was just double-checking.” Caron
frowned. “I need to talk to someone about her. And I re
membered you mentioning a friend of Lily Mae’s down at
the diner.” Ina called the cafe a diner.

“Mary Beth.”

“Mary Beth,” Caron repeated, her heart thumping fast
er. “Yes, that’s it. Would you do me a huge favor?”

“Depends on what it is. I don’t hold with giving my
pledge till I know exactly what I’m pledging.”

“Just a phone call. Would you call Mary Beth and ask
her if she’ll talk to me?”

“I ought to be asking why, but I’m thinking if your Parker is at all like his daddy, I’m better off not know-mg.

Caron grazed her lip with her teeth. “That’s probably true, Ina.”

“I’ll call. You go on down there. Mary Beth works the lunch shift, so she’ll be there. Get you a slab of her apple
pie. It’s mighty fine.”

“I will. And thanks, Ina. You’re a doll.”

“Have you found the girl yet?”

“Not yet.” Caron’s smile faded. They had a few more days. Misty
had
to be home by Christmas. Otherwise, it
would be a day of mourning, not of joy. “Soon, we hope.”

Parker whispered. “What’s her favorite color?”

“Well, you just call if I can help.”

“Thanks.” Caron said. “Ina, Parker wants to know your
favorite color.”

“Parker’s there? I’ve been meaning to talk to him about
smooching you in the car. Mrs. Klein’s got a powerful crick
in her neck from watching, and Mr. Klein’s miffed with her
‘cause he’s having to do all the cooking. You tell Parker Simms that smooching in the car with a lady ain’t proper
now, you hear?” Without missing a beat, she rushed on.
“And tell him pink’s my pick of the litter. Not them blue pinks, now. Can’t abide them blue pinks. I like the clear
pinks.”

“Okay. Clear pink.” Caron’s face burned. “I’ll tell
Parker about the, er, smooching, too. Bye, Ina.”

Parker tapped the hook button, grinning. “Smooching?”

“It ain’t proper.” Caron mimicked Ina. “Mr. Mud Boots
, alias Mr. Klein, is miffed with Mrs. Mud Boots, alias Mrs. Klein, because she’s got a powerful crick in her neck
and he’s having to do all the cooking.”

Parker laughed. “Did you tell her it didn’t count?”

“What didn’t count?”

“Our kisses.”

“What?” Sometimes the man was as dense as a board.

He shrugged. “We didn’t like them.”

“Shut up, Parker.”

Chuckling, he punched in a number. When Fred answered, Parker winked. “I need a favor, Fred. I want you to see to it that Ina Erickson has as many clear pink irises planted as her heart desires and her lawn will hold.”

He tilted the receiver. “I need Ina’s address.”

Caron reeled it off, unable to resist smiling at him.

Parker repeated it, thanked Fred, then hung up.

Caron stood up. “For a lousy kisser, you’re a soft touch,
Simms.”

“Who, me?”

The warm look in his eyes had her breathless. “You.”

He began tidying up the kitchen. “Come with me to the
office, then we’ll go to the cafe together.”

“I can’t.” She wished she could. Oh, how she wished she
could.

The bowls rinsed, he turned off the water. “Why not?”

Her smile faded. “We’re running out of time.”

The cafe was old-fashioned, in a charming sort of way. Wooden tables with little mason jars filled with white daisies, potted palms scattered here and there to give the din
ers an illusion of privacy, and a jukebox that had to be one
of the first ever installed in the city of New Orleans.

Caron slid down onto the green plastic seat and waited
for the waitress to come to her table. If her hunch was any
where near the target, when she left here, she’d know a lot more about Keith Forrester than she’d learned reading his trumped-up dossier, which, in addition to not mentioning he had a wife, she felt sure glamorized his brokering accomplishments during the past five years. That she’d have
to adopt Parker’s methods to learn the needed informa
tion still grated on her, but it was urgent. Misty was sleep
ing more and more—just as Sarah had the day before she’d
died.

There wasn’t much time.

The waitress’s sensible shoes squeaked on the tile floor. “Yes, ma’am,” she said to Caron, though her weathered face suggested she was Caron’s senior by thirty years.

“Mary Beth?” The woman nodded.

“I’m Caron. Ina’s friend.”

“Oh, yes, she called just a few minutes ago.” Mary Beth
looked around. “What can I get you? They’re sticky about
visiting while on the job around here.”

“Coffee and apple pie?” Caron asked.

“Peg baked today. Hers ain’t bad.” The woman smoothed her pink uniform skirt. “If you like tart apples.”

Caron concentrated, focused on the woman. Her air
conditioner at home was out of commission. She was
looking forward to finishing her shift in ten minutes; her feet hurt. But she wasn’t looking forward to sweltering in
her sultry apartment. She needed money.

“Mary Beth,” Caron said, “do you know Keith Forres
ter?”

“Ina says you’re okay, but—” She dropped her lids to
half-mast. “Why are you asking? Friend or foe?”

“Neither. Objective third party.” Caron fished a fifty out
of her purse. Using her hands had sharp pains bolting up her arms and through her shoulders. The money was supposed to go toward next month’s rent, but desperate situ
ations called for desperate measures. Misty was desperate.
Mary Beth, who was susceptible to heat exhaustion, was desperate. And Caron, who had made a fatal mistake last Christmas, was desperate not to repeat that mistake this
Christmas.

“I need to know about him.” Caron laid the fifty on the
table. “When you get off, can we talk?”

“Sure.” Mary Beth watched the money. “Sure, we can
talk. But I don’t want your money.”

Passing down the cramped aisle between the tables, a man brushed against Mary Beth’s shoulder. She bumped the edge of the table. “Coffee and apple pie,” she said,
steadying herself. “Be right back.”

Caron waited, watching the comings and goings-on in the
cafe. A young boy clearing tables carried a brown plastic bucket from one table to the next, methodically dumping
soiled dishes and linens. He should be in school. Someone
dropped a glass. It shattered on the tile.

“Here you are.” Mary Beth set Caron’s cup and pie in
front of her, then sat down on the other seat. “What do you want to know?”

“First, how well do you know Keith Forrester?”

Mary Beth smiled. “Everybody in the place knows more
than they want to about him
and
his wife.”

A funny feeling inched up Caron’s spine. “Why?”

Mary Beth leaned forward across the table and dropped
her voice. “Let’s see, today’s Tuesday, so it must have been
Sunday that this happened. Keith was here for lunch. He
comes in a couple of times a week.”

“Alone?”

“Most of the time. But once in a while his rich redhead
comes in, too. They don’t come together, though.”

“Do you know her name?”

“No, I never heard him call her anything but ‘Sugar.’”

In his office, Forrester had called Vanessa ‘Sugar.’ Was
it a generic term with him?

“Did she ever have a little girl with her?”

“No, she didn’t.”

“Okay, what happened on Sunday?”

“Well, we thought it was odd, Keith coming in on a weekend and all. He looked upset when he got here. Kind
of mopey and scared at the same time. Then his wife,
Linda, comes in.” Mary Beth’s eyes widened. “She was madder than a virgin bride hitched to a drunk groom. She
sure didn’t talk like a virgin, though. Before we knew what was happening, she was screaming and throwing dishes at
Keith. Ranting on like a lunatic. Crazy things about him getting her brother mixed up in some scheme.”

Caron’s whole body tensed. “Could you make out what
it was all about?”

“No, it didn’t make a nickel’s worth of sense to any of
us. But Linda told him that if he didn’t stop it, she would. That he could rot in jail for his five million.” Mary Beth guffawed. “Can you imagine? Keith Forrester ain’t got no
five million.”

“How do you know?”

“Because he ain’t paid Chuck in over two months.”

“Chuck?”

“The owner here.”

“I see.” Caron tapped the fifty. “Have you seen Forres
ter or Linda since Sunday?”

“No. And he ain’t been in at the office, either.”

“Oh?” How would Mary Beth know that?

“Chuck told me—Charles Nivens, my boss.”

Genuine surprise had Caron cocking her head. “Charles
Nivens owns this restaurant?”

Mary Beth nodded. “Do you know him?”

“No, but I’ve heard he’s a very nice man.”

“He is.” Mary Beth’s cheeks turned pink. “His wife is in De Paul’s, you know.”

The mental institution. Caron didn’t miss Mary Beth’s familiarity, or her pet name for Charles Nivens. Here, she
thought, was the other half of Chuck’s affair. “Has she been there very long?”

“Twelve years.” Mary Beth propped her chin on her folded hand. “She’ll be there forever, but Chuck won’t di
vorce her. He’s Catholic, you know.”

Mafia-connected, she knew. Catholic, she didn’t. “I’m sorry.” Caron pushed the fifty toward Mary Beth. Why didn’t Chuck buy her an air conditioner? “Thanks for your
help.”

“I wouldn’t take this, but my air conditioner’s on the
 
 
blink.” She scrunched up the money and shoved it into her
 
pocket. “I’d just as soon nobody knew we’d talked
.”

Ah, pride. Mary Beth wouldn’t let Charles Nivens help
her financially. “I understand.”

Caron watched Mary Beth leave through the front door,
then sat watching the window, her pie and coffee untouched. Her hands hurt too much for her to try lifting the
fork or the cup. Remembering how Parker had fed her, she eyed the pie longingly. He’d be here in a few minutes. That
thought made her feel much better than it should have.
Accept it, she told herself. There’s something very special
about Parker Simms.

And something very weird going on with Keith Forres
ter.

He had a scheme. He’d gotten Decker involved. And learning about it had made Linda Forrester, Decker’s sister, a very unhappy camper. Vanessa, whoever she was, hadn’t been happy, either. She’d had cold feet.