Blood Memory

bothering no womens for a long time.” To emphasize her point, Pearlie puts her eye to the sight and aims the barrel at Neal’s genitals.

The smile vanishes from the driver’s face. “Your day’s coming, nigger.”

“If I tell Dr. Kirkland you bothering his grandbaby, your day’s come and gone, cracker. Get out of here!”

Billy Neal laughs again, then walks slowly back toward Malmaison.

“Why did you do that?” I ask. “I can take care of myself.”

“He’s a bad apple. I don’t know why Dr. Kirkland keeps him around here.”

“He’s a bodyguard, you said the other day.”

Pearlie spits over the rail. “That boy got a law degree, too, from somewhere. You believe that?”

This revelation makes me think of Sean and his night-school law degree. He told me tales of con men and criminals taking the same courses and earning the same degree he did. “I believe it.”

“I think he got something over Dr. Kirkland,” Pearlie says softly.

“What do you mean? Something on him?”

She nods once, firmly.

“What could he have on Grandpapa?”

Pearlie shakes her head, her eyes still on the retreating figure. “His mama used to work for your granddaddy. Secretary or bookkeeper, something. She knew things.”

“What could she know about? Something illegal?”

Pearlie turns to me, her eyes hard. “I don’t know. Dr. Kirkland’s careful with the family business. But it’s got to be something. Your granddaddy wouldn’t let that trash tie his shoes, otherwise.”

Her comment reminds me that my grandfather-a man who places such value on integrity that he closes million-dollar deals with a handshake-has destroyed the careers of several men who crossed him, or who lied to him in business deals. “I wouldn’t want to try to blackmail Grandpapa.”

“Lord knows that’s right. Be like climbing into a bear pit with the bear in it.”

“You stay away from that driver, Pearlie.”

She reaches out and squeezes my wrist. “You, too, baby. Things have changed around here.”

“Have they?” I shake my head. “I don’t think so. I think things were always this way. I was just too young to see it.”

Chapter 25

Grandpapa is waiting for me in his study. He’s sitting in the same leather executive chair he sat in two days ago, when he told me the same old lie about my father’s death. What does he want to tell me now?

He doesn’t speak when I enter. He sits erect in his chair, his left hand cradling a glass of Scotch, his blue eyes looking strangely wet. He’s still wearing his suit and tie, and his tanned skin and silver hair give him the appearance of a veteran Hollywood actor awaiting a scene-not a character actor, but an aging leading man.

“Your driver said you want to talk to me.”

“That’s right,” he says, his voice a commanding blend of baritone and bass. “I need to ask you a question, Catherine. Please sit down.”

Something makes me want to take the initiative away from him. “Why do you keep that lowlife around?”

Grandpapa appears taken off guard. “Who? Billy?”

“Yes. He doesn’t belong here, and you know it.”

Grandpapa looks at the floor and purses his lips, as though reluctant to discuss this with me. Then he speaks in a tone of regret. “The casino business isn’t like our other family businesses, Catherine. Las Vegas wears a corporate image nowadays, but the old unsavory practices are still around. The big Nevada boys don’t like competition, and they have quite a stake in Mississippi. I need someone who knows that world inside and out. Billy worked in Las Vegas for twelve years, and he spent three working for an Indian casino in New Mexico. The exact nature of his experience is something into which I don’t delve too deeply. I’m not proud of that, but sometimes to accomplish something good, you have to rub elbows with the devil. That’s the nature of the gambling business.”

“It surprises me to hear you talk that way.”

He shrugs in the chair. “This town is desperate. We can’t afford our high ideals any longer. Please take a seat, dear.”

I sit in a club chair and face him across a Bokhara rug.

“Still off the alcohol?” he asks, motioning toward the sideboard.

“So far, so good.”

“I wish I had your willpower. Must be the diving that gives you the discipline.”

“You said you needed to ask me a question.”

“Yes. This morning you mentioned hiring a professional forensic team to search your old bedroom. For blood and other evidence, you said.”

I nod but say nothing.

“Have you shelved that plan, given what I told you this morning about Luke’s death?”

“No.”

Grandpapa doesn’t react at first. Then he raises his glass and takes a long drink of Scotch, closing his eyes as he swallows. After a few moments, he opens them again and sets the glass on a table beside his chair.

“I can’t let you do that,” he says.

What do you mean? I ask silently. But aloud, I say, “Why not?”

“Because I killed your father, Catherine. I shot Luke.”

The words don’t really register at first. I mean, I hear them. I recognize the order in which they were spoken. But their actual significance doesn’t really sink in.

“I know this is a shock to you,” Grandpapa goes on. “I wish there were some other way to deal with this. That you’d never have to know. But you found that blood, and now there’s no other way to put an end to this. I know you. You’re just like me. You won’t stop until you know the truth. So, I’m going to give it to you.”

“I thought you gave it to me this morning.”

He shifts in his chair. “I lied to you before, darling. We both know that, and you’re probably wondering why you should believe me now. All I can tell you is this: when you hear what I’m about to tell you, you’ll know it’s true. You’ll know it in your bones. And I wish to God it was a different truth.”

“What are you talking about? What is this?”

Grandpapa rubs his tanned face with his right hand, squeezing his jaw. “Catherine, someday you will get old, and you’ll hear from some doctor that you’re going to die. But what you’re about to hear will be worse than that. Part of you is going to die today. I want you to brace yourself.”

My extremities are going cold. I felt a little like this when I saw my home pregnancy test turn pink. A temporary paralysis set in while my mind tried to adapt to the total transformation of my life. I feel that paralysis now, but with it comes a terrible foreboding. A fear that my whole world is about to be sucked inside out by something that’s been kept from me my whole life. And the funny thing is, I’m not surprised at all. It’s like I’ve known this moment was coming since I was a little girl. That one day I would find myself in this room, or a room like it, while someone gave me the terrible secret of why I am the way I am.

“There was no prowler here on the night Luke died,” Grandpapa says. “You already suspect that. That’s why you asked me if Luke committed suicide.”

“Did he?” asks a faint voice that comes from my throat.

“No. I told you, I killed him.”

“But why? Did you argue with him? Was it an accident?”

“No.” Grandpapa squares his shoulders and looks me in the eye. “Two days ago you asked me why I didn’t like Luke. I didn’t tell you the complete truth. Yes, his reaction to his war service bothered me, and the fact that he couldn’t provide for you and your mother didn’t help matters. But from the very beginning, I had a bad feeling about that boy. Something wasn’t right about him. Your mother didn’t see it because she was in love. But I saw it. I couldn’t put my finger on exactly what it was. I just sensed something, as a man, that made me recoil.”