The Dollmaker's Daughters (Bo Bradley Mysteries, Book Five) (30 page)

"So?" he inquired with a characteristic disdain for extraneous syllables.

"So the perpetrator in this case is the one with no soul," Bo told him. "At least I think that's what Tamlin meant."

"Not exact
l
y
what I need to drag that old bastard's ass into court, but it describes him pretty well. Is that all you got?"

Bo fingered the scapular in her coat pocket. It should be given to Janny, she decided. She would tell Janny everything she knew, and then say her mother had sent this symbolic gift f
rom a world of safety and relentl
ess peace. Maybe it would help. At least it would give Janny something concrete to hang on to.

"Yeah," Bo answered. “
Tamlin's in the ozone, just repeated a very condensed version of the story she told when it happened. But she knows, Pete. In her strange way I think she tried to tell me who it was. Except all I can deduce is that she was describing herself."

"A nun with no soul?"

"Yeah. Can we stop in town on the way back to the helicopter? I want to pick up some apple pies for the party."

"Sur
e," Cullen said, even his dead eye registering a thoroughly masculine disdain for anyone who could think of party refreshments in the middle of important business.

The deputy double-parked in front of Bo's favorite pie shop long enough for her to borrow forty dollars from Cullen and select five pies. On her way out she noticed a familiar figure on the sidewalk in front of the Old Julian Drugstore. It was Daniel Man Deer and an attractive middle-aged woman. He
was carrying what looked like a cast-iron dragon and she was smiling. Bo remembered the voice at Kimmy Malcolm's funeral, reciting a poem by Louise Bogan. The woman would be Mary Mandeer!

"I'll be right back," Bo told Pete Cullen after shoving the five pie boxes into his arms. Then she hurried across the street, wadding her coat under an arm as she ran.

"Mrs. Mandeer? I'm Bo Bradley from Child Protective Services," she gasped. "My supervisor, Madge Aldenhoven, has told me so much about you. Could we talk for a minute?"

"What about?" Mary Mandeer asked.

"A poem called 'Statue and Birds.'"

The skin over the woman's nose, Bo noticed, grew pale and shiny even as a flush crept
up her neck. The curse of pale-
skinned redheads, Bo knew it well. Impossible to mask the slightest shock when your entire face was broadcasting a patchwork of color.

"I'm trying to help Janny Malcolm," Bo went on. "Do you know who killed Kimmy?"

Mary Mandeer sighed and regarded the dragon in her husband's arms.

"I've always thought it was Tamlin," she said. "But the police never really investigated that possibility. The
y thought it was Rick, th
e father, and then later one of them was convinced it was Jasper Malcolm, the grandfather. I assume you know about the other daughter, Beryl's, claim that Jasper Malcolm molested her continually after the girls' mother died. That set the police off, convinced them he'd been the one who broke in that night."

"She told me. Did you believe her at the time? Did you believe that Jasper Malcolm was a child molester?"

“
I
believed Beryl Malcolm," Mary Mandeer said thoughtfully, "at least for a while. It was a very complex case, Ms. Bradley. Nothing was ever proven, nothing was ever clear."

"What do you mean 'I' believed, Mrs. Mandeer? Was there somebody else who didn't? Who? The only other CPS worker on that case was Madge Aldenhoven, and the two of you buried Kimmy Malcolm in secret only days ago. I need to know the truth, Mrs. Mandeer. You worked for CPS and so as long as you live in California you're legally forever a mandated reporter of child abuse whenever you see it
.
Janny Malcolm has been and is now being abused. By the system. You've got to help her. You're
obliged
to help her."

"And you're obliged to stop harassing my wife," Daniel Man Deer pronounced in tones that meant business. The iron dragon in his arms seemed to squirm threateningly.

"Please call the hotline later when you've thought about this," Bo begged Mary Mandeer. "They'll contact me at home and I'll call you back."

"Your enthusiasm places you at great danger, Ms. Bradley," Daniel said softly. "You have no idea how much danger."

"What?" Bo queried. But the big man had already wrapped an arm about his wife and steered her away into the throng of tourists.

Only then did it occur to Bo that she might just have lost her job. Mary Mandeer would be sure to phone Madge Aldenhoven the minute she got home. She would tell Madge what had just transpired, that Bo was continuing to work on a
case her supervisor had explicitl
y forbidden. It was grounds for dismissal.

"Whatever," Bo said to the wadded coat under her arm. It really didn't matter.

Chapter
21

The first phone call came just as Pete Cullen returned from the all-night supermarket with two more strands of tiny white lights to replace the one he'd crushed when Molly fell into the box of popcorn in his lap. He and Eva Broussard had been sitting on the couch competing to see who could string the most popcorn when the little dachshund lost her balance on his shoulder and tumbled into a dog's version of heaven, causing him to lurch forward on his knees into the tangled lights on the floor. Bo could barely hear the caller over Andrew, Dar Reinert, Teless, and Rombo Perry harmonizing on "Silent Night" from the kitchen as Estrella, ensconced in the recliner, searched for the matching chords on an old guitar Bo hadn't tuned since her black coat was new.

"Just run those around the bottom of the tree and then we can plug it in!" she called to Cullen and Estrella's husband, Henry. "Hello?"

"It's the hotline, Bradley," a male voice announced. "Sounds like you're having a party."

"You called to tell me that?" Bo yelled over the din.

"You got a message. Nothing major, just some guy named Man Deer who wants you to call him. Here's the number."

"I've already got that number, and I'll call him. Thanks."

So Daniel Man Deer wanted to talk with her, Bo thought.
Why not Mary? And had Mary called Madge yet? Surveying her crowded apartment, Bo acknowledged just how far beyond professional boundaries she'd barged. A CPS worker who brought a child client into his or her home for any reason whatever was automatically fired on the spot
.
And sitting on Bo's bed tying wired-ribbon bows with Deb Reinert and Rombo's partner, Martin St. John, was Janny Malcolm. Beside her under a profusion of metallic gold bows was the old doll, dressed in maroon velvet and lace. Rombo and Martin had designed and sewed the outfit, modeled on a nineteenth century Kate Greenaway children's illustration.

"Martin thought a fabulous outfit for the doll might diminish some of the creepiness," Rombo had explained, "and I agreed. Janny loves it!"

Bo had no
dded enthusiastically, secretl
y en
vying the doll its stylish littl
e cape. She wondered if Rombo and Martin would be in
sulted if she contracted with th
em to create an identical one for her, in an Irish tweed. She and Rombo had discussed Janny's presence at the party in a long phone conference earlier. Teless wanted Janny to come and Janny wanted to come, Rombo had said. He'd be responsible for her on her "furlough" from the hospital. A happy evening would be good for her.

"I agree," Bo concurred, taking the leap. After all, what was the point of
a Christmas party from which th
e one most needing warmth and friendship would be excluded? Bo was sure Irish tradition would support her decision, if San Diego County's Department of Social Services would not
.

"
Mr. Man Deer," she began from th
e bathroom where she'd taken the portable phone. "I received a message from the hotline that you'd called."

"I want to speak with yo
u, Ms. Bradley," he said urgently. “
Tonight if possible."

"I have some friends here at the moment, a tree-trimming party. They'll be leaving at around nine, so we could talk then. Do you mind my asking why this can't wait until tomorrow? What's happened?"

There was a silence in which Bo imagined the burly Indian glowering at the phone in his hand.

"I have seen
wikwisi
yai
," he said softly, "the rattl
esnake shaman. I saw him in the river gorge, from a distance, after Mary and I returned today. I had gone there to walk as I often do."

"Yes?" Bo answered. Something in his voice demanded respect.

"He had covered himself with dust and carried bundles of white sage in each hand."

"He was 'smudging' something, purifying it with smoke from the sage," Bo offered.

"There has not been a rattlesnake shaman in a hundred years, Ms. Bradley."

"Then he was a ghost."

"He was a warning. I must see you tonight"

"Things will have cleared out by ten," Bo said, giving him her address. "I'll see you then."

Man Deer's language hadn't seemed strange at all. It had reminded her of her grandmother.

"Okay, let's plug her in!" Pete Cullen yelled as Bo joined the group on her deck. Janny Malcolm made one last adjustment to a swirl of gold ribbon, and everyone broke into "Oh, Tannenbaum" in English and German simultaneously as a thousand white lights blazed from the tree. Bo felt Andrew's arm circle her waist and leaned against him.

"Oh, Andy," she whispered, "it's so bright even Caillech Beara can see it from out in the fog!"

"What?" he said, nuzzling her cheek.

"This is her feast, you know, or was before Christianity. In the longest night she gives birth to the sun, year after year. But in her travail she's especially dangerous, an
d so we mortals cluster around li
ght during her season, where she can't approach."

"I wish I'd known your grandmother," he smiled. "What a heritage she left you!"

"Now, food!" Teless announced, drawing everyone immediately to the kitchen counter, where a pot of Cajun jambalaya sat steaming beside a warm stack of Martin St
.
John's famous whole wheat yeast rolls. Bo had sliced the apple pies and warmed them in the oven. A gallon of homemade French vanilla ice cream brought from San Diego's trendy downtown Gaslamp district by Deb and Dar Reinert waited in the freezer. There was plenty of wine, and somebody had started coffee. Bo observed her guests from the deck door and felt a rush of contentment. The party was a roaring success.

Curling on the arm of the rec
liner, she slid an arm over Es
trella's shoulders.

"How do you feel?" she asked.

"Great! For some reason I have all this energy all of a sudden, and so does the baby."

Estrella pulled Bo's free hand to her beach-ball-shaped abdomen. There were thumps and thuds of surprising strength, Bo thought. The last one had been a kick, no question. Es and Henry's new offspring seemed to be enjoying the party, too.

"The baby can hear the voices, the music, especially the bass notes because they vibrate," Estrella explained. "I feel like dancing myself."

“
Try some of Teless's jambalaya instead, Es. Let me get you a bowl."

"I've already had two," Estrella admitted. "And pie. Ravenously hungry, for some reason. Think I'll grab the bathroom while it's free.
”

"And have you noticed your shrink tonight?" Es
grinned as Bo helped her from th
e overstuffed chair. "She always looks stunning, but do I detect a special glow on those Iroquois cheekbones?"