Daughter of Deceit (30 page)

Tuesday

Tuesday morning Katharine called the upholsterer and was told the furniture would be delivered after four. Since Tom was making important calls from his library at home, she decided she might as well run errands for the party. Seeing a shoe sale, she stopped and bought a new pair. When she passed Piedmont Hospital on her way home, she decided to stop and see how Bara was doing, and remembering Rita Louise’s icy looks the day before, replaced her sandals with the new shoes before going in.

That was a mistake. By the time she walked to the ICU, the little toe on her left foot was tingling. There, she was told, “Mrs. Weidenauer has gone into a private room.” That entailed another long walk. By the time she got to Bara’s hall, the toe was burning like fire.

At least the room was easy to spot. It was the only one with a police officer at the door.

Katharine cautiously peeped in. Bara had not been given a view—another building of Piedmont’s burgeoning complex was right outside her window—but the room was as bright as a carnival, full of flowers, fruit baskets, and cards. Even suspected of murder, Bara Weidenauer was a favorite in Buckhead.

Payne and the small, dark woman Katharine had glimpsed on Saturday afternoon occupied Bara’s two visitor chairs.

“I thought you’d deserted me,” Bara greeted her. “Haven’t seen you for days.”

“I need to talk with Katharine a minute.” Payne rose and dragged Katharine into the hall. “Can you stay a little while? I’d like to run down and get some breakfast, but I don’t want to leave Mama alone.”

“I hadn’t planned on staying long, but she has another visitor.”

“Yeah, but I don’t know that woman, and I’m afraid—” Payne bit her lip and glanced back into the room. “Look, you probably know Mama has a drinking problem. I don’t want anybody sneaking her in some liquor.”

“Nobody’s getting liquor through that door,” the police officer assured her.

Payne gave him a withering look. “You have no idea how persuasive my mama can be.”

Katharine knew how persuasive Bara could be. Why else was she standing in that hospital when she’d scarcely known the woman eight days before? However, her experience in keeping a determined alcoholic away from liquor was minimal. “I can stay until you get back from breakfast,” she agreed, “but I don’t know how much good I can do. If somebody comes in and tries to hand her a bottle, shall I wrestle them to the ground?”

Payne ignored her flippancy. “Your being here will do her good. She really likes you.”

Katharine felt a flush of pleasure, mixed with surprise. In spite of herself, she was becoming fond of Bara, too.

“Mrs. Anderson? I’m glad I caught you.”

They hadn’t noticed the detective coming toward them, but Katharine should have been alerted. He was jingling the coins in his pocket.

“I wanted to let you know we got more information on that second gun we found, the one in your mother’s drawer that was reported stolen by Winston Holcomb. Turns out it fired the bullet found in the skull of Mr. Holcomb.”

“Mama had the gun that killed Winnie?” Payne sounded like she was having trouble taking it in. “She must have found it in his condo.”

“No, ma’am. We went over that condo at the time of death. Mr. Holcomb’s death was officially closed as a suicide, but this opens that case again.”

Finally Payne understood. “You can’t think Mama killed Winnie! That’s impossible! She worshiped him.” She looked to Katharine for assent.

Remembering Bara’s confession, Katharine said nothing.

“Most murders are committed by somebody close to the victim, ma’am. But Mr. Weidenauer also lived in that house. Maybe he killed Mr. Holcomb and Mrs. Weidenauer found out.”

He didn’t bother to complete the thought. Katharine saw her own conclusion dawn in Payne’s eyes: this gave Bara a far stronger motive for murder than self-defense.

Payne clutched Katharine’s elbow. “Go stay with Mama. I’ve got to call Hamilton. She’s got to have a lawyer, no matter what she says!”

As soon as Katharine went back in the room, Bara growled, “Was Payne telling you to keep me off the sauce? No, you don’t have to answer. She’s alerting everybody who comes in. She’s a better watchdog than a pit bull. But she doesn’t need to worry. I’ve got Maria.” She gestured to the woman who had risen to give Katharine the chair by the bed. “Maria, this is my new friend, Katharine Murray. Katharine, this is my long-time friend and AA sponsor, Maria Ortiz. Maria will do a lot more than Payne ever could to keep me on the straight and narrow, now that I’ve climbed back on the wagon. She’s worse than two pit bulls. But dammit, Maria, I need a drink!”

“She’s on pain killers,” Maria told Katharine. “It makes her mean, but not dangerous. And she knows mixing liquor and drugs can kill her.”

“How are you feeling?” Katharine asked Bara. She accepted the chair Maria had offered and, with relief, slipped both feet from the confining shoes and relaxed them on the cool floor.

Maria moved to the chair on the other side of the bed, playing the hospital visitation version of musical chairs.

“Lousy,” said Bara. “The people who moved me up here must be accustomed to moving furniture. They shoved me around like a couch or something. And the food is terrible.”

“She had a delicious breakfast and ate every bite. Her daughter spoils her rotten, her friends bring her fruit and flowers—” Maria gave a deep chuckle, but one filled with sympathy. “She is grumpy because she cannot have the one thing she craves, which she knows will kill her if she does not give it up. I know,” she added humbly. “I have been there myself. She will make it, but it will not be easy.”

“Maria saved my life,” Bara told Katharine. “She was the one who called nine-one-one.”

“Don’t tell her!” Maria said sharply.

Katharine was already asking, “Have you told the police?”

“I cannot tell the police. They will not believe me. They will think we beat Bara and killed her husband.”

“We?” Was that simply Maria’s grasp of English pronouns?

“She was with a friend,” Bara explained. “Somebody else from AA. I’d promised to attend a meeting.” She asked the building outside her window, “Why didn’t I keep that promise? None of this would have happened if I had.” She continued her explanation. “Bert, the guy who drove her to my place, has a record for robbery and assault. We can’t drag him into this mess. He’s gone straight since he stopped drinking.”

“But if they knew he was in that house…” Maria’s eyes were wide with fright. “Please tell no one!”

“You’ll have to tell your lawyer,” Katharine told Bara. “This could be very important.”

“I told you, I’m not getting a lawyer. I can’t afford to pay one. I’ll tell my own story and hope they believe me.”

Was Bara really that brave? Or was she counting on her family’s membership in the Good Old Boys’ network to save her? Katharine would leave it to Payne to tell her mother they were hiring a lawyer over her protests, but she did want to impress Maria with how serious her testimony could be.

“They think Bara called nine-one-one. They think she shot Foley, made the call, and fainted.”

“But she was unconscious! I tried and tried and could not wake her.”

“Tell Katharine what you told me,” Bara instructed.

Reluctantly, Maria complied. “I went to see why she did not come to the meeting like she promised. My friend drove me to her house, for I have no car. Such a big house! I never imagined. When we got there, the only lights were upstairs but the front door was open, so I rang the bell and peeped into the hall. I know how easy it is to drink too much and forget to close your door. I think maybe Bara is getting ready for bed upstairs and will hear the bell, but she does not come, so we tiptoe into the front hall. I step on broken glass.
This is strange
, I think.
Surely such a grand house has servants to sweep.
My friend, he thinks we should get out of there, but I am worried for Bara. ‘Get your flashlight,’ I tell him. ‘I do not want to turn on a light, but I want to make sure she is okay.’ When we shine the flashlight in the front hall—a very grand hall!—we see Bara lying at the foot of the stairs, all in a heap. I think she has gotten drunk and fallen down the stairs. I try to waken her, but she will not wake up. And while I am trying, my friend sees a man lying in the dining room, and he is shot through the head. We were terrified! Whoever has shot the man must have hurt Bara, as well, and he may still be in the house! My friend insists we leave. I do not want to go without Bara, but I know it could be dangerous to move her. My friend pulls my arm. He says he must not be found there. Back when he was still drinking, he was a thief and once he beat a man. He cannot give the police a reason they will believe for why he is in that house. So I fetch a pillow from the living room and put it beneath Bara’s head—”

“You put the pillow under her head?” Katharine interrupted. “That’s one reason they think Bara shot Foley. They think she was conscious long enough to call nine-one-one and get a pillow.”

“Oh, no, she was deeply unconscious. I could not wake her. Because I knew we should not move her, I did the only thing I could think of to make her comfortable. My friend is urging me to get out of there, pronto! But before we go, I call nine-one-one on a phone lying on the table. I do like I read once in a mystery book, where someone calls and does not speak, but leaves the telephone on so the police can trace the call and know where to go. We drive down the block and wait. Soon we see the police and emergency vehicles come, so we know someone will take care of Bara.”

“She saved my dadgum life,” Bara repeated.

“Do you remember anything more about what happened?” Katharine asked her.

Bara shook her head, then pressed one hand to it as if it ached. “Not a thing. I know I fixed supper and ate it, and Foley came in and tried again to make me give him Winnie’s shares.” She grinned. “I do remember something else. I pulled a knife on him. Nearly scared him to death.”

“Don’t tell the police that,” Katharine warned.

“I won’t. But if I’d stabbed him, none of the rest would have happened, would it?”

“If you’d stabbed him and remembered it, you’d be in a worse fix than you are. You don’t remember a thing about being downstairs later, though?”

“Not a thing.”

“She was in an alcoholic blackout,” Maria said with conviction.

“I’m getting old, and I have a concussion,” Bara insisted.

“You were in an alcoholic blackout,” Maria repeated. “But that will not save you. No jury or judge will permit that as an excuse for murder.”

“Maybe you could tell about coming to the house without involving your friend,” Katharine suggested to Maria. “At least tell them Bara was deeply unconscious and the door was wide open.”

Bara immediately disagreed. “Maria has a record of her own. Besides, they’d be sure to find out she doesn’t drive, and under cross-examination, they’d crucify her. She’d have to tell about Bert, and they might even try to implicate her. She can’t testify. It’s enough that I know she saved my life.” She turned back to Maria. “Katharine is helping me figure out who my daddy was.” To Katharine, again, “Have you had any more luck with that?” She clearly wanted to change the subject.

“Not exactly.” Katharine wondered how much to tell her.

“Lean on Rita Louise. She ought to know something, but she wouldn’t tell me.”

“Can you picture me or anybody else leaning on Rita Louise? But I did speak with her.”

“And?”

“Ann Rose and I went over because she found a picture of your parents in one of Oscar’s albums—”

“Let’s talk plain here. You mean Nettie and her husband?”

If Bara wanted plain talking, she would get it. “Of Nettie and Winnie, taken in June of forty-five. Nettie wasn’t pregnant.”

“She wasn’t? She had to have been.”

“She wasn’t. So Ann Rose asked Rita Louise point-blank if you were adopted. Rita Louise said yes, they adopted you while they lived in New York.”

“Adopted me?” Bara said it slowly, taking it in. “Neither of them were my parents?”

Maria spoke sharply. “Both of them were your parents. They raised you just as I raised Farah after my friend Sonja was killed by her pimp. I am Farah’s mother as much as I am the mother of the children I gave birth to. Birth only takes nine months,
querida
. Parenting takes a lifetime.”

“I know.” Bara spoke slowly, processing as she went. “Winnie
was
my daddy. He was a great dad. But even if she’d birthed me, Nettie wasn’t much of a mother.”

“She was still your mother.” Maria stood up. “I must get home. I will come tomorrow. You will be fine until then.” It sounded more like a command than a statement.

“I will be fine until then,” Bara concurred, “but I still want a drink. I need one, bad!” Her body shook with intensity, and she gave an involuntary groan of pain.

Maria kissed her cheek. “Poor dear, you hurt, yes. And you wish you could take away all the pain of what has happened. But liquor will only add to your pain, and wanting and needing are two different things. You want a drink, but you need to give it up.
Hasta luego
.”

“There goes my real mother,” Bara told Katharine when Maria had gone. “She’s a good ten years younger than me, but she’s raised me.” She pulled her good arm out from the covers and peered at it. “Maybe I’m really Hispanic, like Maria. Maybe I was the illegitimate child of Latino teenagers from New York. Maybe that’s why I am so dark.”

“I don’t think Rita Louise knows anything about that—or even Eloise.”

Bara laughed. “Eloise doesn’t know her own name. You went to see her?”

“Ann Rose and I did. She was muddy about the present, but remembered several things about the past. She seemed to know you were adopted, but she didn’t tell us anything more than that.” Katharine saw no point in giving Bara the conflicting stories about which of her parents insisted on adopting her and which one protested.

Bara closed her eyes and seemed to be taking it in. “Then I have no clue who I really am. That is the weirdest thing about this whole setup. Why didn’t they tell me?”