come where I’m not invited!”
“Gran–Mama,” Whitney began, her face chalky, “I just haven’t had time to talk to them yet.”
“No, she didn’t,” Jackson said. “You’re a priestess? A voodoo priestess?”
“Yes. But I am also Whitney’s great–grandmother,” the woman explained.
Jackson wasn’t sure whether or not to be indignant at her demeanor. But he had the feeling that this woman could help them, and that the wisdom in her eyes ran deep. He bowed his head slightly. “Whitney didn’t mention you, but, please, yes, stay, help us.” He cast Whitney a frowning glare; she lifted her hands helplessly.
“Gran–Mama—Mama Matisse—was friends with both the maids who worked here. And she knew Regina and the senator. I thought you might want to hear what she can tell us,” Whitney said.
Jackson nodded at her. “I’ll run up and take a two–minute shower. Mama Matisse, Whitney will take you into the kitchen and get you some coffee or water or whatever. Please?”
“I am here to help you,” Mama Matisse said with tremendous dignity. “I will do my best. You see, the police have not much cared for what I’ve had to say, but I can tell you this—the very day that Regina Holloway died, her maid, Rene, came running over to tell me that there were ghosts in this house. There were ghosts, and there is tremendous evil, and whether or not they are one and the same, that you must discover.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Mama Matisse drew a long bony finger down her teacup as she sat at the kitchen table. “Whitney asked me to come here today because of the maids—and because I was here, and worked with Regina Holloway,” Mama Matisse explained.
“You worked with her?” Angela looked from Mama Matisse to Whitney.
“Regina Holloway was very fond on my great–grandmother, and believed in her wisdom,” Whitney explained.
Mama Matisse nodded gravely. “The maids will not come back in this house, Trini or Rene,” she assured Angela. “They are afraid. They have taken money from the senator to live on while they look for new positions. They need to keep working in this city, so if you were to try to call them and ask them questions, they would not come to you with a ghost story. They don’t mind if I speak to you in their stead. If you question them, if the police question them again, they will not speak about the ghosts, and that is all that there is to it. But they have talked to me, and I don’t believe they care that I talk to you.”
“Thank you,” Angela said.
“They are afraid that people will think that they are crazy,” Mama Matisse said. “Loco, as Trini says,” she added.
“My great–grandmother is considered to be extremely wise,” Whitney said. “Many, many people come to her. Whether they are voodooists, Jewish, Buddhists, Christian or whatever.”
“I promise you, we’re not going to repeat anything that you say,” Angela assured her.
Mama Matisse looked at her. “If you were to repeat what I say on behalf of the maids, it wouldn’t matter. I have said it, and not them.”
Angela nodded. Mama Matisse did not easily trust people, but Whitney had asked her to come, and so here she was.
“The women, both Rene and Trini, worked here the day that Mrs. Holloway died,” Mama Matisse said.
“Did they tell you that they saw something?” Angela asked.
“Yes, they saw a ghost. Or they thought they saw a ghost. He was in the hallway, Trini told me. They saw a man, and then he disappeared. They didn’t tell Mrs. Holloway. She had said that she didn’t believe in ghosts. And the man disappeared, so he couldn’t have been real. Mrs. Holloway had told them that she was going to lie down. They later heard that she was dead, that she had killed herself, going over the balcony. They were very upset.”
“Of course,” Angela murmured.
“I didn’t believe it,” Mama Matisse said. “I didn’t believe it a minute when they said that she committed suicide. Neither did her maids. She was Catholic. She went to church every Sunday morning, and sometimes, during the week. Her faith was strong. To a Catholic, it’s a grave offense to God for us to take our own lives.”
“But she was very upset about the loss of her little boy, right?”
“She was sad, yes,” Mama Matisse said. “So sad—I was here when the senator told his wife that they always wanted more children, and that they would try again, that they would have several. Mrs. Holloway told him that they couldn’t replace Jacob. The senator said no, they would never try to replace him. But they had always wanted more children and they would try. And she said that yes, she loved children, and she loved him, and that she would fix up the house, and that one day, they would have a family. And they talked about all the needy children in the world, and maybe they would have a child, and adopt a child.”
“That doesn’t sound like someone about to commit suicide,” Jackson said from the doorway to the kitchen.
He had showered away the dust, and appeared clean, striking and confident as he came in to join them. He was casual, pausing to pour himself a cup of coffee before taking a seat across the table from Mama Matisse. “She sounds like the nicest woman imaginable. What about the other people in their lives? Those closest to them? What about their day–to–day lives?”
“I don’t know about their day–to–day lives, Mr. Crow,” she said. Angela didn’t remember that Jackson had ever introduced himself, but Mama Matisse knew who he was. “I haven’t been here before on a day–to–day basis. I can tell you this—Mrs. Holloway had many friends. But she needed time to be alone—because people kept telling her how sorry they were about her son.”
“We really need to speak with the maids,” Jackson reminded.
Mama Matisse merely stared at him.
“I’m sorry. I’m grateful that you’re here.”
“The maids will not speak to you. They will not speak to anyone anymore. They talked to the police, and they have nothing more to say. They are afraid. They have their lives to live.”
“If this case ever goes to court—” Jackson began.
“Do you think that everything is solved in a court, Jackson Crow? I think that you know differently,” Mama Matisse said.
Jackson stared back at her. Angela was certain that he had reacted inwardly, but, as usual, she saw nothing change in his expression.
“You are right. You can’t always force the truth in court,” Jackson agreed. “So, please, tell me, who was closest to them. Tell me what you can. David Holloway is a politician, so his life is full of people, but tell me what you know about his relationships.”
“Let me think about those around him…There is Mr. DuPre, and Senator Holloway’s secretary, Lisa Drummond. Lisa Drummond protects the senator at his office. Martin DuPre tries very hard to be the go–between. He protects the senator’s time. The senator still appears to be reeling from what has happened. He is dependent on those around him. He
