In a Heartbeat - Elizabeth Adler [59]
Hand over her mouth, she added in a whisper, “The poor dear came here with a severe alcohol problem, though we managed to straighten it out. But she’s old now, very old. Ninety-three, y’know. Never thought she would last that long, but she confounded all the doctors.”
She paused to take a breath, and Camelia took advantage of the moment to get a word in.
“Is Mamzelle Dorothea . . .” He hesitated, not wanting to say sane. “Is she of sound mind?”
“She most certainly is. Well, she’s a bit, you know, doddery. Her mind’s here one minute, gone the next. You can’t take everything she says as gospel, I’m afraid. Hence my skepticism over the mysterious phone call.”
“She claims to know a man called Ed Vincent.”
“Of course she knows him. He pays her bills here, he often visits her.” Her smile faded and she added, “Until recently, of course.”
Mel stared at her, stunned. Ed took care of this old lady? He had never mentioned her. But then, Ed was a charitable man, he took care of a lot of people. People she knew nothing about. And how much did she really know about Ed after all? she wondered, bewildered.
Camelia’s face was cop-impassive as he waited for Rhianna Fairland to continue.
Realization grew on Rhianna. “Dorothea called because she wanted to talk to the police about Ed? I guess she wanted to know who did it. Poor Dorothea. She missed him last weekend, she so looked forward to his visits, and he never skipped them. Oh no, he was always here, every Sunday, except for the weekend of the hurricane. And now, of course.”
Her eyes met Mel’s. “I’m so sorry,” she said quietly. “Mr. Vincent was a very nice, very generous man. We shall all miss him.”
“He’s not dead yet,” Mel shot back, alarm bells ringing. She had been away too long, anythingcould have happened, people were already talking as though he had gone. . . .
“Of course, I didn’t tell Dorothea about it. Far too upsetting. And I don’t know how she found out what happened. The television viewing is strictly supervised, and I understand she doesn’t see well enough to read the newspapers. And anyhow, all her bills are paid via a private trust.”
She flipped back her long hair. Like a sixties’ teenager, Camelia thought. He guessed that some people just got stuck in a comfortable time warp, when they were their happiest.
“Ms. Fairland, I need to question Mamzelle Dorothea. I believe she has information about Ed Vincent that might help in our search for his attacker.”
“Dorothea does? Well, I’ll be darned!” She flopped back in her chair as though the stuffing had gone out of her, limp with shock. “But how can Dorothea possibly know who tried to kill Mr. Vincent?”
“She claimed in her message to have information we would be interested in.” Camelia shrugged. “I’m afraid I must insist on seeing her, Ms. Fairland.”
“Well, I don’t know. . . .” She hesitated.
“It’s official police business, ma’am,” Camelia warned.
“Oh. Official police business. Well, yes, then I suppose it’s all right. But she’s a very frail old lady, I’m warning you to take care.”
35
Mamzelle Dorothea’s room was spacious, with double French windows leading to a flowered terrace. The scent of gardenias drifted in on the breeze, along with the trickling sound of a fountain, reminding Mel of a hundred such lazy, sunny days in the south, when she was a child.
It had been a long time since Mamzelle Dorothea had been a child, though, and every day of her life seemed written on her corroded face. Sharply jutting cheekbones propped up the withered flesh, and eyes of the palest winter blue, brimming with intelligence, stared inquisitively at them as they entered. Her sparse hair was pulled back so tightly that Mel thought it could have acted as a face-lift, but at ninety-three,