Play Dead

Chapter 18

"He's cute." Audrey stared into the distance as she sucked sweet tea through a straw.

"Our waiter?" Elise asked, following the direction of her daughter's gaze.

"Yeah. Think he goes to SCAD?"

"Most of the people who work here go to SCAD."

They were sitting in wooden schoolroom chairs at a marble-topped table in the front window of the Gryphon Tea Room, overlooking Madison Square. The Gryphon was one of the many buildings owned and renovated by SCAD, Savannah College of Art and Design. The renovation had involved retaining most of the original features, from the pharmacist cabinets and apothecary tile to the mahogany walls and Tiffany glass.

Audrey loved the place, and Elise tried to take her there several times a year for a mother-and-daughter tea.

"Here he comes again," Audrey whispered, leaning forward.

Audrey was the age when moods changed so rapidly it almost seemed like sleight of hand. Now you see it; now you don't. At the moment she was up, almost euphoric-a direct combination of the tearoom, caffeine, and their waiter. Elise was smart enough to know she herself didn't even register in the equation.

The waiter breezed past with a tray of decadent-looking desserts, bound for another table. Elise found herself much more interested in what the young man was carrying than in the young man himself.

"Don't you think he's cute?" Audrey asked once he was out of earshot.

Audrey was wearing makeup now. Fairly conservative if you discounted the powder blue eye shadow that matched her long-sleeved T-shirt. Her normally curly hair was parted in the middle and had been tamed with some kind of straightening tool. Her face still held baby fat, her cheeks soft and slightly rounded. Her short nails had been carefully painted with silver, glittery polish.

Would she be tall? Elise wondered. Thomas was fairly tall. And what about her grandfather? Because more and more Elise found herself believing that she was the daughter of Jackson Sweet. She'd read that Jackson Sweet had been over six feet. Very few pictures had been taken of him, but Elise had once come across two blurry photos at the Historical Society. Brooding, with a long, thin face. He'd been wearing the glasses Strata Luna had given her.

Elise reached for the teapot. "Not my type, I guess," she replied in answer to Audrey's question about the waiter.

Audrey took one of the bite-size sandwiches from the tiny three-tiered tray. She examined it carefully, pulling back the bread to make sure the filling didn't contain something she would consider gross. Which could be almost anything, because Audrey's definition of gross changed with her mood. "Was Dad your type?" The question was presented in a sneaky, casual way.

Elise poured tea and put the pot back on the tray. "At one time."

"But not anymore."

"Well… no."

Elise knew Audrey blamed her for the divorce. Maybe she was to blame, more than anybody knew. It was a question that had haunted her since she and Thomas had married.

"Is David Gould your type?" Audrey asked with a sly smile.

"Gould?" Elise made a face and picked a red grape from the top tier of the serving tray. "David Gould?"

"Yeah. He's about your age, isn't he?"

"I guess." She popped the grape in her mouth.

"And single."

"Divorced, I think he told me."

"See. You're divorced; he's divorced."

Elise laughed and shook her head. "Audrey, we are nothing alike."

"You're both cops. Both detectives. You told me once that the reason you and Dad broke up was because you were too different. So you need a guy with the same lifestyle."

Elise thought it in poor taste to mention that her partner had a drinking problem and that beyond work their lives were nothing alike. But then, she knew how a young girl's thoughts could take off, and she didn't want Audrey to start thinking she and Gould could ever be anything. As it stood, they were barely even partners. "It's not going to happen," Elise said. "So get that out of your head."

"But you married Dad thinking you were so right for each other. Then you found out you weren't. Maybe you need to find somebody who seems wrong for you. Maybe then it would work."

Teenage logic. "Not all women need a man," Elise told her.

A couple of patrolling Guardian Angels walked past the window dressed in red berets and vests.

"How old do you have to be to be a Guardian Angel?" Audrey asked.

"Sixteen," Elise said. "Do you have an interest in being one?"

Audrey suddenly looked confused, then embarrassed, as if her own curiosity had caught her unaware. "No way," she stated, once again the annoyed, bored teen. "Why would I wanna do that?" And of course she wouldn't want to show interest in a profession that remotely resembled her mother's.

Elise had brought Audrey to the tearoom hoping to talk to her about Jackson Sweet, but suddenly the timing didn't seem right. When Audrey was up, you didn't want to risk bringing her crashing down. Why spoil the afternoon?

Their tea finished, Elise paid and left the waiter a nice tip. Then she and Audrey walked up Bull Street, through Madison and Chippewa Squares in the direction of the police station, where Thomas was scheduled to pick up his daughter.

The temperature was perfect. Not too hot or too humid. A white horse-drawn carriage moved lazily past, the Morgan's huge, shaggy feet clumping slowly and rhythmically against the brick street. Azaleas were blooming, and for a few short moments Elise could almost believe everything in their lives would be fine.

They were preparing to cross the street when Audrey halted abruptly. "Look!"

Turning the corner was a black car, its back windows tinted so nobody could see inside. The charming Enrique was at the wheel.

"Strata Luna," Audrey whispered in awe, her eyes glued to the long vehicle, her mouth hanging open. "They say she killed her daughters. That she drowned one and strangled the other. That is so creepy."

Elbows at her sides, Audrey rapidly waved her hands as if she might flutter off. "Oh-my-God," she gasped. "She's coming this way!" She pinched the sleeve of Elise's jacket and tugged. "Hurry! We have to run!"

The car pulled to a stop and the blackened electric window glided down. In the darkness of the backseat, Elise could make out the vague shape of a hat and veil.

"Elise." Strata Luna's melodic voice came from the murky interior. "Is this the daughter you were telling me about?"

Audrey stiffened. Elise could sense her shock, maybe even her disapproval.

Elise introduced her naive, innocent daughter to the woman who had feasted on her own mother's heart and ran a whorehouse. A nice wrap for a mother-daughter outing.

They were caught in the middle of a no-win situation. If Audrey chose to keep the encounter from her dad, then she'd be hiding things; if she chose to tell him, he'd be extremely upset.

"Are you skilled, child?" Strata Luna asked, choosing to keep her face hidden by the black veil.

"S-skilled?"

"Has your mother taught you anything? Passed on her root knowledge?"

"N-no."

"Elise, it's your duty to pass the mantle," Strata Luna said.

Audrey glanced at her mother. "That's okay. I don't want to know any of that root stuff."

"Then what do you do, child? What keeps your mind and body busy?"

"I play ball. Softball."

"Are you good?"

"Pretty good."

"Do you win?"

"Sometimes."

"I'll make a charm so you'll be always winning. Something you can wear around your neck."

"Audrey doesn't need a charm," Elise said firmly, while at the same time thinking of the herbal pouch Strata Luna had given to her. At that very moment, it was in her shoulder bag. "She's an excellent player."

"My ears hear what you're telling me," Strata Luna said with a sly smile in her voice. "Every mama knows what's best for her girl." She lifted a gloved hand and made a motion like a blown kiss. The electric window silently closed, leaving Elise and Audrey regarding their own reflections.

As they watched, the car glided away.

Beside Elise, still clinging tightly to her arm, Audrey whispered, "Sweet kitty."