“He is. He’s driving east to see his son. He should be back soon.”
“Thanks again for your help at the hospital and for seeing me now.”
“How’s the shoulder?”
Rachel tightened her grip on her purse strap. “Sore but better.” The unexpected connection was a nice bonus. “Do you think your mother would be open to talking to me about Annie Rivers Dawson? I’m trying to talk to everyone who knew her.”
“Momma is in the sunroom now. And she’s rested up. I don’t see why it would hurt to visit. She doesn’t get many visitors.” Brenda pushed open the screened door. As Rachel stepped inside, Brenda glanced past her and frowned. “Did you notice that car parked a half block behind yours?”
Rachel followed her gaze to a dark sedan parked across the street. She recognized the driver instantly. Oscar McMillian.
“You know that man?” Brenda asked.
“I do. He’s a client. But he shouldn’t be here.” Tension rippled through her body.
“Should I call the police?”
The police translated into Deke. His words of warning about Oscar rambled in her head and she pictured him staring at her as if she were a child. Oscar was more of a problem than she’d realized, but to admit that to Deke . . . well, she’d rather eat dirt. “No. Thanks. I’ll deal with him later.”
Brenda stared past Rachel to Oscar. “I don’t like the looks of him. He can’t be up to any good.”
“If he bothers me I’ll call the cops.”
Brenda glared at the man. “Trouble.”
Tension slipped up her spine. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for this to be about me.”
Brenda’s smile warmed. Clearly conflict didn’t rattle her. “I’ve worked in the prison ministry for years. I’ve seen my fair share of scary men and I can handle myself. Don’t worry. Come on in then and you can have a talk with Momma.”
Rachel followed Brenda through the house, walls cluttered with dozens of pictures of children, old folks, and wedding couples. Rachel imagined the entire family history had been mapped out on this wall. She thought about her own home and her lone family picture. It had been taken at her high school graduation. She’d been dressed in her white cap and gown. To her left stood her mother and to her right her brother. Her father had passed by then but it had been one of the happiest days she could remember. For mere moments there’d been no conflict, no arguments and life had been good and filled with promises of art school.
Even then she’d realized happiness could be fragile, but then she’d still believed that destiny was in her control. If only she’d realized happy endings weren’t really possible.
Brenda showed her into a brightly lit sunroom filled with green plants. Soft music played in the background. Sitting in the corner was a woman nestled in a wingback chair. Her body had been ravaged by disease and though she couldn’t have been more than sixty, she looked eighty.
Eyes closed, the woman tilted her face back, savoring the heat of the sun on her face. When her mother had been ill, it had been the simplest pleasures she’d enjoyed most toward the end. The sun’s heat. A child’s laugh. A trip to the market. A kind word.
Brenda moved toward the woman and with a loving hand touched her cheek. “Momma, you’ve a visitor.”
The woman opened her eyes and looked at her daughter and then at Rachel. Blue eyes possessed a keen, alert edge that defied the illness decimating her body.
“I saw you on television the other night.”
Unable to begrudge this woman a laugh at her expense, Rachel smiled. “I made a real impression.”
A grin softened the woman’s hollow lines. “You can take a hit, that’s for sure. Didn’t cry or bellyache. Got up and stood your ground. That’s good for something.”
Rachel’s tension melted. “Thanks.”
“I guess you know I’m Kate Tilden.”
“Yes.”
Brenda said, “Momma, Ms. Wainwright is here to talk to you about Annie Rivers Dawson.”
She shifted in her chair and winced as if the slightest movement triggered pain. “I didn’t think she’d come to talk about the weather.”
Rachel and Brenda’s gazes met and for a moment she saw in Brenda’s strained smile the apologetic look of a daughter not sure how to handle her dying mother’s candor. “Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”
“Not at all. I’d enjoy the conversation. Sit.”
Rachel perched on the edge of a cushioned chair.
Kate looked at Brenda. “Would you get us some tea? Might be nice to make an occasion of a rare visitor.”
Brenda hesitated, as if she didn’t want to leave her mother alone, and then smiled. “Sure, Momma. I’ve also made cookies.”
Kate waved her veined thin hand. “That’s a good girl.”
Rachel shifted on the chair wanting to sit back but feeling as if she didn’t have the right to be informal.
“Go on, sit back and make yourself comfortable. I might be sick with the cancer but I don’t bite.”
“I’m not afraid of the cancer. I lived with it daily when my mother was ill.”
“She died.”
“Three years ago.” Rachel understood the disease; it sapped energy fast and she didn’t want to give the impression she’d stay past her welcome. She settled back in her seat. “Let me know if you get tired or you need for me to leave.”
“I’m always tired and I’m always alone. If you can manage a yawn or two then I’d like to have your company.”
“Deal.”
“So what do you want to know about Annie? I’m not surprised you found me. I don’t think there’re many people left that knew her personally.”
“Your sister roomed with her.”
“That’s right. I met Annie when I stopped by the apartment to drop off papers for Beth.”
“What were your impressions of her?”
“Bright, bubbly, ambitious. Could sing like an angel. She worked hard and wasn’t afraid to ask for what she wanted.”
“She also sang at your church.”
Watery eyes brightened with admiration. “You’ve done your homework.”
“I try.”
“Yes, Beth introduced Annie to our pastor. She sang “Amazing Grace” on Easter Sunday and there was not a dry eye in the house.”
“She sang there often?”
“Pretty regular for several months. That’s where she met her husband, Bill Dawson. You talked to him yet?”
“He’s a hard man to catch. He won’t return my calls and I can’t get past his receptionist.”
“He wasn’t the easiest man from what I remember. But he sure did love Annie.” She winked. “I hear he likes to run early in the morning about seven. Centennial Park.”
“How do you know that?”
“I was church secretary for thirty years. I heard it all.”
Rachel thought about Annie’s letters. If Bill had been her great love, why not mention him by name? She’d noticed Annie had been careful to include no identifying information on her lover. “Was she seeing anyone else?”
“Like that Jeb Jones fellow, the one that murdered her?”