Monument to Murder - Margaret Truman [59]
“You can’t count on that. When are you supposed to meet her again?”
“Tomorrow afternoon.”
“Where?”
“Downtown.”
A last look at his private putting green outside the french doors preceded his next and final response to their situation. “I want to meet this girl named Louise but I don’t want to do it downtown. Can you convince her to go with you to a place I name?”
Mitzi and Jeanine looked at each other.
“I suppose so,” Mitzi said.
CHAPTER 20
The following afternoon, Jeanine and Mitzi drove to where they were to meet Louise Watkins. She looked even worse than she had the day before. A cheek sported a new bruise and she walked at an angle, as though to straighten up would be painful.
Jeanine, who was behind the wheel, pulled to the curb by the run-down park and motioned for Louise to come to the car. She balked at first and indicated that they were to come to her. Neither Mitzi nor Jeanine made a move. Mitzi repeated Jeanine’s hand motion. Louise looked around and slowly, tentatively approached. She stood beside Mitzi, who sat in the passenger seat.
“What’s going on?” Louise asked through the rolled-down window, her words affected by drugs.
“Get in,” Mitzi said.
Louise frowned as she tried to gather her thoughts. “You got the money?” she asked.
“No, but we’re going to someone who does,” Jeanine answered.
Louise was visibly conflicted. She hadn’t expected this change in the scenario she’d written for herself and the meeting.
“If you want some money, Louise, you’ll have to come with us,” Mitzi said.
The girls in the car waited while Louise processed this.
“Who?” Louise asked.
“You’ll find out,” Jeanine said. “We can’t sit here all day.”
Louise looked up and down the street and saw two of the young black men who’d been there yesterday heading her way. Jeanine wondered whether Louise was afraid that they were about to take her to some secluded spot and kill her. They would be going to a secluded spot but murder wasn’t part of the script. Maybe it should be, Jeanine thought.
Louise opened the rear door and tripped as she got in. She slammed the door shut and sat wedged against it as though seeking refuge.
Jeanine drove south, reaching Victory Drive and continuing until she took a right onto Waters Avenue. Louise said little except to ask a few times where they were going. “You’ll see soon enough,” Mitzi responded.
They crossed the Diamond Causeway from the Isle of Hope and entered the Skidaway Island State Park, a 533-acre preserve bordering a stretch of the Intracoastal Waterway called the Skidaway Narrows. Jeanine and Mitzi had been there many times on family outings. Jeanine followed a narrow roadway leading to an area where large earthwork fortifications built as Confederate defenses during the Civil War shared the land with abandoned moonshine stills. It was an overcast day with rain looming in the forecast, which had kept down the number of visitors. Jeanine parked and she and Mitzi got out. Louise remained in the backseat, taking in her surroundings, fear etched on her face.
“Come on,” Mitzi said, opening the door for her.
The three young women walked along a path bordered by Savannah holly and magnolia trees and azalea and firethorn shrubs.
“Where the hell we going?” Louise demanded.
“We’re here,” Jeanine said as she saw a man standing alone near an entrance to one of the Civil War entrenchments.
Louise stopped. “Who’s he?”
“Somebody who can help you,” Mitzi said.
“This is Louise,” Jeanine said when they reached the handsome, well-built young blond man in a tan suit, yellow shirt, and green tie. His name was Jack Felker; he was Ward Cardell’s personal assistant and PR man.
“Hello,” he said, and smiled.
Louise said nothing.
“You have nothing to be afraid of,” Felker said, “but maybe I can help you.”
“‘Help me’?” Louise said.
“Yes. I understand you’re looking for money in exchange for forgetting something that happened last Saturday night at Augie’s.