The Dollmaker's Daughters (Bo Bradley Mysteries, Book Five) (31 page)

Bo glanced around for Eva Broussard, found her leaning against the edge of the deck doorway, her arms crossed ele
gantl
y across the beadwork of a chamois blouse she'd worn with a long, slender skirt. Eva held a glass of wine that punctuated her conversation with reflected light as it moved. Pete Cullen stood with his back to a bookcase, towering over the lithe and muscular woman who was both friend and psychiatrist to Bo. Above him on the bookcase a pottery vase shaped like a parrot seemed to smile.

As Bo watched, Eva laughed and the
n leaned to touch her head lightl
y against Cullen's chest. A universally understood womanly gesture of affecti
on and interest, it had apparentl
y escaped the hidebound ex-cop's lexicon of experience. He lurched backward against the bookcase as though Eva had attacked him, dislodging the Mexican vase and a slipcased collection of the novels of Rumer Godden, in paperback. The vase bounced off his shoulder and landed on the carpet, unbroken, as Eva Broussard shook her head.

"I'll be damned," Bo whispered to Estrella. "Eva likes him."

"It's perfect," Estrella agreed. "He'll never know what hit him. Boy, I feel funny, Bo. Will you wait right here while I use
the
john?"

"Sure," Bo answered as Teless and Janny approached with the glazed eyes of teenagers-who-have-a-plan.

"Could we just walk up to Goblin Market for about a half hour?" Janny began. "We can walk from here and I really want Teless to see it. I mean, she's never seen a Goth club, I guess they don't have them in Louisiana, and we could, you know, borrow some black clothes from you and stuff. You have to wear black, Teless. Mr. Perry said to ask you what you thought, Bo. But I mean, he doesn't really know what Goth's about, and you do. So what do you think?"

"No way, Janny," Bo answered. "I don't think it's a good idea."

Neither girl seemed surprised.

"We figured you'd say that. But what about if Mr. Perry and Mr. St John go with us?" Teless suggested. "They'd be like escorts. And we won't stay long."

Bo regarded Janny Malcolm, a "mental patient" on furlough from a psychiatric hospital where Christmas would involve red and green
Jell-O
in Styrofoam cups instead of the usual orange Jell-O. A mental patient with no mental illness except that created by lies and silence
. Janny Malcolm smiled expectantl
y.

"If you can talk Rombo and Martin into it
,
why not?" Bo gave in. "I'm not really in charge of your case anymore, anyway. With Rombo right there, what can happen?"

The psychiatric social worker had been a boxer in his troubled youth, but pugilistic skills were not what Bo had in mind. He was also one of the most competent and compassionate professionals with whom she'd ever worked. Rombo Perry would look after his young charge with the zeal of a mother elephant. The girls would be perfectly safe.

"Bo?" Estrella called from behind the partially opened bathroom door. "Wow, oh,
madre de dios
. Bo, I think this is it! Can you get some towels? And you'd better get Henry!"

Towels? Bo remembered the f
acts of reproduction, the littl
e sea in which each mammal swam until its lungs were ready for air. Then the sea broke and rushed away, signaling the time for birth.

Bo pulled open the door to her linen closet, grabbed every towel there, and handed them to Estrella.

"Oh, Es, the baby's coming, right?"

"Definitely," Estrella grimaced.

Bo pondered logistics. Dar Reinert would have a pop-on flasher in his car; all the cops carried them. He and Deb could lead the way to the hospital, a police escort Henry and Estrella would follow. There was plenty of time. But the scenario didn't include a role for Bo, who suddenly felt excluded. She'd stay behind and phone Estrella's sister, she decided. Except she wanted to
be
Estrella's sister, be included.

"Henry," she whispered to the blond naval officer stirring hazelnut creamer into a cup of coffee, "don't panic, but Estrella will need to go to the hospital now. The baby's coming. I'll ask Dar to give you an escort."

She wasn't surprised when Henry dropped his coffee on the little kitchen's tile floor. It was fine. She'd always hated that cup anyway. Deb Reinert hurried to clean up the fragrant spill as Bo urged Dar into his shiny blue cop jacket Then she wrapped Estrella in her own black coat and kissed her friend on the cheek.

"Break a leg!" she said because she couldn't think of anything else to say.

"Bo, I want you to be there!" Estrella insisted. "You're the
godmother, you have to be there. Eva and Rombo and everybody can stay here and finish off the party, okay?"

"Absolutely!" Bo agreed.

"I'll drive you, Bo." Andrew LaMarche joined in. "You'll be too nervous to drive."

"We're going to take the girls up to this vampire thing," Martin St
.
John called from the bedroom where he was tying Bo's best black silk scarf into a cravat
.
"But we'll be back, so call as soon as junior arrives!"

Bo heard the phone ring as she hurried to the door, and saw Eva Broussard move to answer it. It couldn't be anything important she thought. And even if it were, it would have to wait
.

Forty-five minutes later Bo was dressed in scrubs and escorted by a deliriously happy Henry Benedict to a delivery room where Estrella lay with her feet still in stirrups, holding something wrapped in a small cotton blanket. Estrella's smile, Bo thought gave new depth to the term "radiant"

"Es?" she grinned as tears spill
ed down her cheeks, "can I see?”

"You're not going to believe this," Estrella beamed, pulling an edge of the soft blanket aside to reveal a tiny pink face topped by damp strands of carrot-colored hair. "Meet Patrick."

Bo felt her heart melting, felt the entire configuration of the world shift in some
indefinable
way. He was perfect, he was without guile or artifice, and he deserved the best. She would do her part
,
give him her best. She would care for him and bri
ng him gifts. But most importantl
y, she would be the one to tell Patrick Benedict the stories which would frame his understanding of life.

"Red hair, Es!" she cried, touching a damp curl. "And 'Patrick.' It's an Irish laddie you've got, then!"

"The hair's just Henry's blond and my dark, mixed, I guess," Estrella s
miled. "But his name is for you,
Bo. An Irish name."

"Aye," Bo said as the baby wrapped an incredibly ti
ny hand around her litt
l
e finger. "And to you, wee
Padraig
," she whispered, pronouncing his name in Gaelic, "the blessing of light be on you, without and within. And all the strength of heaven to bear you on your journey. Welcome!"

"Bo?" Estrella said, something dark in her eyes. "He's a boy. You don't think... he can't, he can't turn out like my brother, can he?"

"Not Patrick," Bo assured her friend. "We won't let that happen."

"Okay," Estrella sighed, closing her eyes. "Thanks, Bo."

In the hallway Bo and Andrew watched as Patrick was wheeled to the newborn nursery in a glass basket labeled
benedict, boy, seven pounds
. Estrella would sleep while Patrick's first hours were carefully observed by professionals trained to recognize the slightest hint of trouble. There would be no trouble, Bo thought. The baby was robust But at least Estrella could get her last full night of sleep for a long, long time.

"Ms. Bradley?" a nurse's aide called. "A Dr. Broussard phoned and asked that you call her immediately. She said it was an emergency."

Bo knit her brows and hu
rried to the maternity waiting
room pay phone.

"Eva," she said when the psychiatrist answered immediately. "Patrick has arrived, seven pounds and healthy. Es is fine. What's the emergency?"

"Pete got a call just as you were leaving, Bo. Tamlin Lafferty was murdered early this evening. Someone crushed the back of her skull with a shovel as she was praying alone in the chapel at St. Dymphna's."

"I'll be right home," Bo said. "And Eva, are the kids back from Goblin Market yet?"

"No," was the answer.

Chapter 22

E
va Broussard was alone when Bo and Andrew returned to Bo's apartment, her face a mask of concern.

"Rombo, Martin, and the girls haven't returned," she announced. "I phoned Goblin Market and had Rombo paged, but there was no answer. The music was so loud I doubt that any of them could have he
ard a page, so it may mean noth
ing.

"They're probably just enjoying themselves," Andrew suggested. "Nevertheless, I'm on my way there now. Bo has told me enough about the Malcolm case to convince me that an upsetting sequence of events may have begun, potentially involving Janny and, by association, my young cousin."

Eva glanced uneasily at a thickening cloud layer which obscured the moon, then sniffed the air. "Rain," she said. "And I'm afraid there's more to be upset about
.
Pete left immediately after the call reg
arding Tamlin Lafferty. Apparentl
y he's part of a loosely organized task force of retired police who're working with the FBI on some longitudinal tracking of various criminal activities, including a child-pornography ring which uses baby dolls as subjects in grossly pornographic photos. The dolls are actually advertised in ordinary magazines and newspapers as collectibles. Only certain key phrases in the ad text alert cognoscenti to the unwholesome
industry flourishing beneath. The dolls are Jasper Malcolm's designs. Yesterday the authorities were able to arrest a key figure in the pornography distribution ring on unrelated charges. Pete feels that this arrest has frightened Malcolm, sent him over the edge. He's certain that Malcolm is Tamlin's murderer, that he's hell-bent on destroying what remains of his family before he's arrested and destroyed himself."

Bo searched for a raincoat in the closet, found one. Shiny blue plastic with a strawberry design on the lining. Undignified, but it would have to do. She wondered if Cullen had warned Beryl Malcolm.

"Pete Cullen is convinced that Jasper Malcolm murdered his wife, molested his daughters, terminally battered one of his granddaughters, and grew rich on porn photos of his dolls," Bo conceded. "And he may be right, although I'm not entirely convinced. But that doesn't mean Jasper had anything to do with Tamlin's murder or that Janny is in any danger from him. Cullen's just too sure. He thinks Malcolm eluded him thirteen years ago and he's determined to even the score."

"Cullen seems quite competent," Andrew said, dismissing Bo's point
.
"And Bo, I want you to stay here. There's no sense in both of us running around on a dark beach in the rain."

"It isn't raining yet and it's my beach," Bo pronounced through clenched tee
th. "I live here. More importantl
y, I'm responsible for Janny being here. So is Rombo. Don't tell me what I can and can't do, Andy. You're out of line."

"I'll stay here," Eva concluded neutrally. "And Bo, Pete seemed to feel that you'd find this interesting. Tamlin's face had been dotted with ink, as if someone had randomly pressed the point of a pen against it. A black ballpoint according to the medical examiner."

"Where's Pete now?" Bo asked as Andrew scowled in the doorway.

"I'm not sure. He may have gone to view the crime scene at St. Dymphna's. He was quite agitated and left after the call came from the Backcountry Sheriff's Department. Apparently he'd left a message on his machine at home indicating that he could be reached here."