Carol O’Connell - Stone Angel

“She shows real talent with mice, ‘cause that’s a footrace, and the quickest wins. But the birds usually see her coming in time to fly off. It’s that bright yellow fur. She’s like a little bonfire in the grass.”

Charles nodded. Mallory had much the same problem. So she had certainly not been in Dayborn all these months – not if one appearance could cause the commotion of a heart attack, a beating and a death. Surely she would have wiped out the entire town by now. The sign which had welcomed him to Dayborn had only boasted a population of eleven hundred people.

He was closing the door, when through the crack, he saw the cat bounding down the hallway, her lips pulled back over sharp white fangs and her eyes outraged. He pulled the door shut, and heard the angry cat’s body hitting the wood three feet off the ground.

CHARLES WAS BREAKING the tradition of courting staircases, admiring Augusta’s fine legs and trim ankles as she led him up to the wide veranda. Black birds perched on the curving wrought-iron rail, unperturbed by the old woman’s presence. But, one by one, they took flight as he climbed the stone steps behind her.

When he was eye-level with the massive base of one column, he could see patches of encroaching moss. At the top of the stairs, he stepped over a thick vine, which had crawled up from the yard and now reached out for the front door in bursts of new sprouts. He could almost hear it growing, creeping across the boards. Autumnal wildflowers bloomed all around the house, and their perfume was layered over the heady aroma of chicory coffee wafting up from the cup in his hand.

“I’m waiting on a relative,” said Augusta, walking to the far side of the veranda. “Her parents phoned me this morning to say she was coming to town. Lilith’s father would have told her to pay a courtesy call before she even thought of sitting down to dinner.”

She settled into a high-backed throne chair, the sturdiest piece among the collection of aging wicker. As he sat down beside her and gazed across the wide expanse of tall grass, he understood why the porch furniture was clustered here at the far end. Now he believed in Augusta’s invisible ten-foot hill. According to his guidebook, the levee was nearly thirty feet high along this stretch of the river. Only the rise of Augusta’s and and the added footage of the brick foundation below them would have afforded this panoramic view across the barrier.

Sea gulls dipped and soared, screamed and swooped above the surging Mississippi. A majestic white steamboat was heading downriver toward New Orleans and churning the muddy water with her paddle wheel. He could see all three tiers of the vessel’s superstructure. For one moment of magic, the great ship seemed to glide with perfect balance along the top of the earthen dike. He followed its slow progress until he was distracted by the runner on the levee.

Against the backdrop of bright light reflected on the water, she was a lean, dark silhouette with the long legs of a colt and the speed of a longdistance runner. She turned down the steep incline of the embankment and was lost behind the trees near Henry Roth’s cottage.

“That would be Lilith Beaudare, my cousin’s child,” said Augusta.

He caught sight of the runner’s shadow sprinting through an exposed sliver of the cemetery and then disappearing behind the cover of encircling trees.

The running woman had cleared that ground with amazing speed, appearing again at the foot of the oak alley to his right. She had settled into a slower gait, jogging up the dirt path toward the house. Charles could see the runner’s true colors now: the red of her T-shirt, the purple shorts – the black skin.

He turned to the pale woman beside him.

In the manner of delivering the last line of a fine joke, she said, “The world has changed, Charles. You must try to keep up.”

Augusta laughed, and he liked the sound of it, no matter that she was laughing at him.

“My cousin, Guy Beaudare, moved his family to New Orleans when Lilith was a little girl. They used to come back every summer for a visit – but no more. I haven’t seen that child in years. It’s strange that Lilith should turn up in Dayborn just after your friend was jailed.” There was a caution in her voice as she leaned closer. “You should find it odd, too.”

The young woman was walking toward them with an easy confident stride. Charles noted the detail of the serious competitor’s track shoes. While the young woman was still out of earshot, Augusta smiled at him. “You think Lilith is dark? Her mother is so black she’s blue – pure Africa.”

As the introductions were made, Charles believed he saw African suns in Lilith Beaudare’s eyes, twin orbs of yellow on the rise as she looked up to his face. Her black hair was cropped close to a finely shaped skull, and her lips were the color of plum wine. It was an intoxicating array of hue and form. She was a bit taller than her elder cousin, and he guessed her height as closer to Mallory’s five foot ten.

After kissing Augusta on both cheeks, Lilith took his hand in hers, and she kept it a few moments too long for a first handshake. She was smiling, but not with her eyes.

“Lilith is on loan to Sheriff Jessop,” said Augusta. “I think I mentioned that his deputy was in the hospital.”

Charles detected a warning note in Augusta’s tone. But six blunt questions into the conversation, he would have guessed Lilith’s occupation anyway. Her style of conversation might have been off-balancing for some. The young woman never phrased a sentence that did not elicit – demand – information, and she left him no room for return volleys. But she had no edge, no leverage with him. Charles was long accustomed to the interrogation mode. Sometimes Mallory could not turn it off.

“How long have you known Augusta, Mr. Butler?”

“We met this afternoon.”

Lilith leaned toward him to press her next question. “And exactly what is your business with my cousin?”

Augusta waved her hands behind Lilith’s back to stop his mouth. “Will you listen to that? She graduated from the police academy not two weeks ago, and she’s already interrogating people.” Augusta paused to glare at her young relation before the next rush of words. “Not that it’s any of your business, Lilith – I hired him to investigate a woman who might be Cass Shelley’s daughter. If she is, then it’s time to turn over her mother’s estate.”

Augusta rose from her chair, and Charles stood up, taking this as his cue to leave.

The old woman lowered her eyes like gun sights. “In case your daddy never mentioned it, I’m the executrix. I’ve been collecting rents and paying taxes on the house since Cass died – and I’m tired of it. So as soon as Mr. Butler nails down the line of inheritance, I can get rid of that chore.”

The young woman nodded and turned back to Charles. “Are you licensed in the state of – ”

“That’s enough, Lilith. Don’t mess with my affairs again.”

The two women locked eyes, and in this peculiar form of wrestling, the younger woman’s gaze was beaten back – not sufficient experience in the world to outglare the old one, not yet.

“I expect you’ll be wanting to get on with your business.” Augusta reached out to shake his hand in farewell.

Charles said good evening to the women and walked back the way he had come, down the covered lane of oaks. A bird screamed after him, and other birds flew overhead as he crossed the open ground and entered the wide circle of trees.

A fat black starling perched on the roof of a tomb and followed him with its eyes and the cock of its head. As he walked on through the cemetery, he heard the flap of pursuing wings and felt a rush of air as the starling lit on a marble monument level with Charles’s head. The creature pointed its sharp beak at his face. Its eyes were cold, showing no more emotion than a reptile.