wonderful home in which to entertain in New Orleans, do you know?” Jackson asked.
Mama Matisse smiled. “That is no mystery. New Orleans is their home. There need be no other explanation. They had an apartment in Baton Rouge, of course,” she said.
Jackson said, “Well, of course. I’m sorry. Of course. And Baton Rouge isn’t so far, right?”
“It’s just eighty miles,” Mama Matisse said. “But that’s why Senator Holloway has a chauffeur. He works in the car when he drives there and back.”
“But he must have stayed over in Baton Rouge often enough,” Jackson said.
“Yes, I suppose so.”
“Did Mrs. Holloway stay here alone when he was gone?” Jackson asked.
“Yes, many times. Of course, the senator was home a lot. The first week they moved in, the state legislature wasn’t in session,” the old woman told him. “You must understand, while I knew Mrs. Holloway I was not her spiritual adviser. She had her priest, but she did have me do a banishing spell.”
“A banishing spell?” Jackson asked.
“Yes, as a precaution against all evil,” Mama Matisse said. “But you must remember that Regina Holloway clung strongly to her own faith. Father Adair came and blessed the house. However, this is New Orleans, and she was part of the fabric of the city. A banishing spell is not black magic. Black magic is when you wish someone ill.”
Whitney cleared her throat and told them, “My great–grandmother does banishing spells often. And when you do a spell, it has to be done the right way. You are always careful not to wish anyone ill. If you wish a ghost to leave, you wish that the ghost finds peace, and you hope that leaving is what will bring the ghost peace.”
Mama Matisse nodded solemnly.
“I see,” Jackson said.
Angela wasn’t sure that he really “saw” anything, but she didn’t say so. Instead, she asked, “So, she wasn’t afraid of the house?”
Mama Matisse shook her head slightly. “No, I do not believe that she was afraid of her own house.”
“What about the chauffeur, Grable Haines? Is he still with the senator, and did he drive for Mrs. Holloway as well?” Jackson asked.
“To the best of my knowledge,” Mama Matisse said, “Mrs. Holloway never drove, and she only got into a car when she was going someplace with the senator. Friends picked her up sometimes, but otherwise, she did everything in the French Quarter. She liked a hat shop on Royal Street…She bought groceries just down on Royal, too. She liked to walk to Jackson Square, and go sit in the cathedral. She didn’t like to leave the area…She hated cars.”
“Because her son was killed in a car?” Angela asked.
Mama Matisse lifted her hands with a shrug. “So one might think. She didn’t own a car. She just rode with the senator when he wanted her with him. So, that means, if she had to go somewhere, she went with the senator—and Grable Haines. Oh, I believe she liked Grable. Everyone likes him. He is a handsome man,” Mama Matisse said. She leaned closer across the table toward Jackson. “But, sometimes, a man can be too handsome. Too many things in the world come too easily to him.”
“I understand,” Jackson said.
Mama Matisse smiled. “You understand, but you don’t accept many things,” she said.
Jackson smiled at her; they were challenging one another, Angela thought, and yet, it also seemed that they respected each other innately.
“Do you think that a ghost killed Regina Holloway?” Angela asked.
Jackson flashed Angela a quick look. “I’m asking,” she said quietly. “Just asking. Do you think that a ghost might have killed her?”
“I told you, I wasn’t here the day she died,” Mama Matisse said.
“But what do you think?” Jackson persisted.
“This is what they told me—Rene yelled for Trini. She was in the laundry room.” She pointed. The laundry room was a small area next to the kitchen, but the two rooms didn’t attach. “Trini said that she came quickly, and she thought she saw a man, vanishing into thin air. She made a cross on her chest and they both prayed to the Virgin and came into the kitchen, but there was nothing in here then.”
“You’re still not telling me what you think,” Jackson said, smiling.
“I think that evil can exist, that’s what I think,” Mama Matisse said. “I can only tell you what they said to me. If it’s true or not, I don’t know. But, soon after this happened, it was time for them to leave for the day. Mrs. Holloway came to the door with them, and they left. They were very frightened. That’s why they talked to me.”
“They never told Regina Holloway about the ghost?” Jackson asked.
“She said that she didn’t believe in ghosts—the maids would not have told her that they had seen one,” Mama Matisse said flatly, staring at Jackson.
“What about the alarm?” Jackson asked.
“They heard her set the alarm. She was always careful when she was alone.” Mama Matisse hesitated. “But…she didn’t like the basement. She never went there when she was alone. She locked the door that led down to the basement.”
Jackson looked at Angela. She kept staring at Mama Matisse.
“Did she say why she was scared of the basement?” he asked.
Mama Matisse shook her head. “She just said that basements—and attics—were inherently strange places. They were like depositories for the past, and she just didn’t like them.”
Jackson mulled that information over for a moment.
“She did believe, I’m sure, that she and the senator lived with a certain amount of danger and uncertainty because he was a politician.”
“Yes.”
Jackson then asked her, “Tell me about Senator Holloway’s bodyguard, Blake Conroy.”
Mama Matisse sniffed.
“He should have been guarding Mrs. Holloway, maybe,” Mama Matisse said. “The girls told me that he was always eating. Making a big mess in the kitchen, and thinking that he could make a big mess anywhere that he went. He is a big man,” she added.
“Was he mean, or rude?” Jackson asked.
“It’s rude to make a mess of a clean kitchen.”
Angela smiled; she saw that Jackson did, too.
“Did Mr. Holloway have a bodyguard just because he was a politician?” Jackson asked.
“Well, there are some people—and some groups—who don’t like the senator,” Mama Matisse said.
“Do you know who? Can you tell me
