Blood Memory

My mother has clapped her hands over her ears like a child, but I keep talking. “Ann killed herself in the clinic with Thomas the Turtle beside her. Did you know that? Did you know she had Thomas there?”

“She did that because of her infertility,” Mom says almost defiantly. “She blamed it on the appendectomy she had there. Daddy said as much several times, as I recall. That the infection might have made her sterile.”

“I’m not even sure that operation was an appendectomy, Mom. I’m afraid Ann might have been pregnant.”

My mother’s mouth is a cartoon O. “Ten-year-old girls don’t get pregnant! My God, that alone should tell you how crazy this is!”

“Maybe she wasn’t pregnant,” I concede, recalling the unanimous opinions of Michael Wells, Hannah Goldman, and Tom Cage. “But something very bad happened to Ann in that clinic. And somewhere deep inside, you know that.”

At last Mom realizes how foolish she must look, and she drops her hands to her sides. As she stares at me in silence, I cross the final, unspeakable line. “Mama…how could you not know? How could you not know that was happening to me? How could you let someone do that to me?”

Tears pool in the corners of her eyes, then slide down her face. “You need help, baby. We’ll find somebody, somebody really good this time.”

“No,” I say, my voice breaking. “You can’t pawn me off anymore. Nobody can help me through this except you. You, Mama. I know you’ve had problems with sex-just like I have-only they’re different problems. I know there are things you can’t do.”

Her mouth begins to quiver.

“I spoke to Louise, Mom.”

She flinches as though from a blow. “Take me home, Catherine. Don’t say another word.”

“I’m begging you, Mom. I’m standing here on Daddy’s grave begging you to help me find the truth. I’m afraid if I don’t, I may not live much longer.”

“Don’t do that to me,” she snaps, angrily raising a forefinger. “Don’t put that on me! Ann did it too many times already. Take me home, or I’m leaving you here.”

“I have the keys,” I whisper.

“Then I’ll walk.”

Chapter

52

When I pull into the parking lot behind Malmaison, I see my grandfather seated in a foldout lawn chair by the entrance to the rose garden. Billy Neal stands beside him, a brown beer bottle in his hand. Grandpapa leans forward to peer through the windshield of the Maxima. When he sees both me and my mother inside, he dismisses Billy with a wave of his hand.

“Give me your cell phone, Mom.”

She refused to speak on the way home from the cemetery, but she passes me the phone. Then she gets out of the car, her purse over her shoulder, and waits for me. As I dial Sean’s number in New Orleans, Billy Neal walks through the arbor and disappears into the rose garden without looking back.

“Detective Sergeant Regan.”

“It’s me, Sean. Do you have my autopsy report?”

“Not yet.”

“Why not?”

“I’ll be honest with you, Cat. I don’t know if I’m going to be able to get it. The FBI has closed ranks on this thing. They’re not giving the task force crap. It’s like the old days when the Feds never shared anything.”

Grandpapa is saying something to Mom, but she hasn’t moved away from the car. I shut my eyes, trying to press down a sense of grim futility. “Sean, you get me that fucking report.”

I hang up. I’d like to back out of the parking lot and drive straight to Michael Wells’s house, but I can’t let Mom face Grandpapa alone. Not after what I told her at the cemetery. As soon as I get out of the car, Grandpapa is up out of his chair and screaming at me. His face is red, his eyes blazing.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Catherine?”

The sight of my grandfather angry still turns my insides to jelly, but today I stand my ground. “What are you talking about?”

“You want to dig up your father’s goddamn corpse?”

I can’t believe it. Either Michael lied to me when he said he didn’t mention my name to his attorney, or someone in the chancery judge’s office leaked word of my inquiries to my grandfather. That has to be it. I called the judge’s chambers during the ride from Dr. Cage’s office to my mother’s shop, so that I’d have some idea of a time frame on exhumation when I discussed it with my mother. But Mom and I never got that far. And now what I had planned as a discreet little operation has, like everything else, become known to my grandfather.

“Well?” he roars. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

Remarkably, my mother interposes herself between Grandpapa and me. This may be a first. “Don’t shout at her, Daddy,” she pleads. “Cat’s not herself right now.”

“What do you mean?” he bellows.

“She’s dealing with some problems.”

He grits his teeth and nods angrily. “Oh, I know she’s got problems. She’s had problems her whole life, just like Ann. I’ve spent half my life cleaning up their problems, but today it stops. Today, I’m done. Today, I’m doing some bud-nipping, before this girl causes this whole town a problem it can’t afford.”

“What are you talking about?” I ask.

“The casino, goddamn it! I’m talking about the salvation of this city. We are one hairsbreadth from federal certification of the Natchez Indian Nation. And there’s not a damn thing the state gaming commission can do to stop it. But you”-he jabs a thick forefinger in my direction-“you could blow the whole thing right out of the water with your questions and theories and getting tied up in the middle of mass murder. And now you want to dig up Luke Ferry’s decomposed body for the whole town to read about in the newspaper? Well, I’m telling you right now, that’s not going to happen. Unless it’s part of an official criminal investigation, you need your mother’s approval to dig that body up.”

Mom almost cowers when he glances in her direction, and I know that she’s not about to give me what I need. But I will not cower. I’m done with that. I take a step toward my grandfather. “Then I guess I’m going to have to make this a criminal investigation. I didn’t want to, but you’re not leaving me any choice. I’ll get the Natchez police out here, and I’ll drag the FBI into it, too, before I’m done. I’ll turn Malmaison into a three-ring circus, if that’s what it takes to find out the truth.”

“The truth?” Grandpapa echoes. “You think it’s the truth you’re after?”

“That’s all I’ve ever been after! But all you’ve given me is lies. Every new story was just another lie to keep me from digging any deeper. What are you afraid of, Grandpapa? What can’t you bear to have anyone find out about you?”

He glances at my mother again, then looks at the ground. When he finally raises his head, his eyes burn into mine. “It’s not myself I’ve been trying to protect. It’s you. The bottom of this damn mystery you’re so keen to solve is something I prayed you’d never have to know, and I’ve done everything in my power to keep it from you. But you won’t let this go. You’ll tear down this house, this family, everything I’ve built to get what you want. You’ve proved that. So…you want the truth?”

A strange thrumming has started in the back of my head. But there’s no turning back now. “I do.”

“You want to know who killed your father?”

“Yes.”

“You did.”

The sound of rain is so vivid that I put up my hands to shield my face. My mother and grandfather suddenly waver in my vision, as though we’re all standing underwater. I want to speak, but there’s nothing left to say. With two simple words all my questions have been answered. Every piece in the chaotic puzzle of my life has finally fallen into place. The long black train that plowed silently over me in the gleaming kitchen of Arthur LeGendre has