“Touché.”
At last she turns away from the bookshelf and sits down in the Eames chair where I read her galley last night. After testing the cushion, she lifts her shapely legs onto the ottoman and crosses them.
“I guess you’re wondering what I’m doing here, right? Natchez, I mean.”
“Well . . . you’re friends with Keisha.”
“I am. But that’s not all of it. Maybe not even most of it. I want to get justice for Keisha, yes. But I’m really here because of the larger story.”
“Which story, exactly?”
Her dark eyes focus on mine to the exclusion of all else. “Your story. Or your family’s. Your father and Viola. Does that surprise you?”
“Ah . . . yes. A little.”
“Keisha’s been sending me her stuff all along. Since before your fiancée was murdered. And I see a lot of parallels with my mother’s story in the relationship between Viola Turner and your father. And I see myself in Lincoln Turner, of course.”
“I can see that, at least in the abstract. But in your book, you made it sound like you’d put your quest for identity behind you. ‘Not every mystery has a solution,’ you said.”
Serenity’s gaze moves off of me. “Right. Well, on that point . . . there’s been a development.”
“What kind of development?”
“A candidate has come forward. For my paternity.”
This is the last thing I expected to hear. “Who is he?”
“A retired art professor in Philadelphia. He’s sixty-nine years old. He’s already offered to take a DNA test. I’m pretty sure he’s the guy.”
She’s speaking with cool detachment, but I don’t buy it. “How do you feel about that?”
“I’m not sure. He just contacted me last week. You read my book. I spent a lot of time up in Philadelphia, trying to trace who my father was. And I actually talked to this guy. He wasn’t one of my main candidates, but I did interview him. He denied even remembering my mother. I knew she’d been in one of his classes, I had the records. But he claimed he’d taught too many students to remember individuals.”
Having seen a photo of Charity Butler inside Serenity’s book, I doubted this. “Even those as striking as your mother? Doesn’t sound like any professor I ever had.”
Serenity clucks her tongue again, this time making it sound like a guilty sentence from a judge. “Exactly.”
“So why the change of heart after all this time?”
“Two reasons. First, his wife died.”
“Ahh. And the second?”
“Come on. I just won the National Book Award. I’m famous.”
“And he’s an academic.” I shake my head in disgust. “He wants the world to know that half your genes came from him.”
“You got it, Mayor. No heart involved. It’s all ego.”
“Well, what are you going to do?”
“Haven’t made up my mind. I don’t really like the guy. But I suppose I want to see whether I can recognize what my mother saw in him. I didn’t the first time.”
“What about your own connection to him? Your future?”
Serenity’s mouth twists with deep displeasure. “That man’s not my father. My grandparents raised me. My aunts. Uncle Catfish. I don’t plan to get warm and fuzzy with my sperm donor.”
Sensing deeper anger in her voice, I decide to change the subject.
“That thing your uncle used to say about Mississippi blood. The strength in it. ‘Beat but not broke.’ Do you think he was only talking about black people?”
My question proves sufficient to distract her. “I asked him that once,” she says. “Catfish actually liked white folks, especially the working people. He thought they’d been manipulated by the moneyed class to resent blacks, but he respected their honesty. Said he always knew where he stood with white southerners, that they always lived up to their word. Uncle Catfish never trusted Yankees. He was like Charles Evers that way.”
“And James Brown.”
“There you go. Now, Catfish did say that Mississippi had always bred a special strain of asshole. The Ross Barnett types. We’ve still got a few of those around, I think.”
“Especially up at the state capitol. Hypocrisy is their wardrobe of choice.”
“Lawdy, lawd,” Serenity says in a Butterfly McQueen voice. “Looks like I’ve found me a bona fide progressive household. Yes, suh, Mr. Rhett.”
“Guilty as charged.” As I watch her watch me with what I know is a ruthlessly unsentimental eye, I say, “Where are you planning on staying while you’re in town?”
“I booked a room at the Eola Hotel.”
“Have you checked in yet?”
“No. I came straight here.”
I take a quick mental inventory of the house. “Look, I want to make you an offer.”
Her eyes twinkle. “I’m all ears.”
“If my instinct about you is correct, you’re going to lose no time making yourself a target of the same bastards who attacked Keisha there. In fact, by coming to this house you might already have done that. So I think you ought to stay here with us. At least for your first couple of days.”
“Seriously? In this house?”
“Well, Caitlin’s house is right across the street, but you know what happened to Keisha there. We’ve got enough room, plus a truly badass security team. You won’t find that at the Eola.”
After a few seconds of reflection, Serenity takes a deep breath, purses her lips, and sighs. “Mr. Mayor, I accept your offer. I don’t fancy getting acid thrown in my face. Or worse.”
“Good.” Her answer gives me a deep sense of relief. “Why don’t you get your stuff from your car, and Mia and Annie will help you settle in.”
Serenity tilts her head as though pondering something. “Hey . . . I don’t want to pry, but what exactly is the status with you and the cheerleader in there?”
“Cheerleader?”
“The girl with the UCA T-shirt.”
“Oh. Mia takes care of Annie.”
“She looked a little old for that.”
“She’s only a sophomore in college.”
A faint smile touches Serenity’s lips. “My mother was a sophomore when she got pregnant with me.”
Hot blood rushes to my cheeks. “Good Lord . . . no. It’s nothing like that. Mia was Annie’s babysitter a couple of years ago. After Caitlin was murdered, Annie kind of lost it. My mother’s living near the prison where my father’s being held right now, so Mia offered to help.”
“I see.” But Serenity’s eyes say the opposite.
“Do you?”
She pooches out her lower lip. “Aren’t we in the middle of a semester? There isn’t a college in Natchez, is there?”
“Mia goes to Harvard. Everything blew up during her Christmas break. She took off a semester to help.”
This time Serenity’s nod is slower but more definite. “Now I see. Well. Did I just ruin my invitation?”
“No, no, it’s fine. You’re just wrong about Mia. You’ll see after you’ve been here awhile.”
“I’m sure you’re right.”
She gets up lightly and heads for the stairs. “I’ll just grab my bag.”
“You need any help?”
“Nope. I travel light.”