I was waiting patiently for Domino to return with coffee when somebody walked into my room. It was a man I would come to know as Chief of Police Hollister McCann. At that exact moment, though, I had no idea who he was.
He was somewhere in his forties, dark hair in the process of turning silver. A handsome man, not quite as tall as me, and a bit heavier. He wore a mustache and a goatee and was the most elegantly dressed policeman I'd ever seen. He walked in like he was the one that owned the place and took his time studying me, and when he'd had enough I had no inkling of the conclusion he'd come to.
He cleared his throat and watched me curiously. "Maverick?"
I said nothing. I could see that made him uncomfortable, and for some reason it seemed the appropriate reaction for him to have. He left me with an odd feeling, one I couldn't put my finger on. Bret and I are both well practiced at reading people, but he was hard to get a handle on.
Finally I answered him. "That's me." It was an effort to try and sound perfectly normal, and I made the effort. For some reason I had the distinct impression I needed to show no weakness, even though it was obvious I'd just been in an accident of some kind.
"I'm Chief of Police Hollister McCann. I understand you're the new owner of Belle Amour."
"I am."
Chief McCann walked over to the chair that Domino had vacated and sat down. That put him about three feet away from the bed. Too close, my instincts were telling me, and it had nothing to do with his occupation. There was something about the man I didn't like, and even as beat up as I was my senses were sending me a warning message. Maybe it was the way he continued to scrutinize, sizing me up and disregarding me at the same time.
"I heard there was an accident of some sort."
Was that meant as a joke or a serious question? I was laid up in bed in front of him, wrapped in bandages from head to foot (well, head to knee), and he was being facetious? If this was a game he was playing, I didn't much care for it. There'd been no question asked, so I gave no answer.
"Do you know who did this?"
That one I had a reply for. "About 15 hands, black, with a white blaze."
"Very succinct, Mr. Maverick. And did you happen to get a description of the person or persons driving the – what was it? A buggy, a carriage, a wagon?"
"A buggy. No. The horse was too big to see around."
If that was the Chief's version of a laugh, I was unimpressed with it. "Very astute, Mr. Maverick. Did the person driving stop?"
"No."
"Do you have any enemies in Natchez, Mr. Maverick?"
I was trying to muster enough energy to answer the question when Domino came back into the room, carrying my coffee. She seemed startled to find someone there. "Can I help you, Chief McCann? Mr. Maverick really shouldn't have visitors right now."
McCann opened his mouth to say something before he saw Domino, but once he got a look at her he appeared to lose his wits. Or his tongue. Either worked for me.
Domino set the coffee cup down on the small table and waited for an answer. Chief McCann finally recovered. "I came to ask Mr. Maverick about the accident, Miss, uh . . . . . ?
"Mrs." Came Domino's answer. "Mrs. Hawkins. He's not in any shape to be answering questions just yet, Chief. Can this be done in a day or two, when Mr. Maverick's had some time to recover?"
I might not rattle the Chief in any way, shape or form, but Domino did. He quickly got to his feet and took his hat off. "Yes, ma'am, it can wait. Mr. Maverick, please come down to headquarters so we can discuss the accident when you're feeling up to it. Ma'am." He backed out of the room and closed the door behind him. I tried to chuckle and started coughing, and Domino had to rub my back to calm the spasm.
When I got my breath back all I could say to Domino was, "Well done."
"Pretentious man," was her comment, and I almost started coughing again. She'd certainly put McCann in his place. And that left me with something to think about. Mrs. Hawkins. She'd introduced herself as 'Mrs. Hawkins.' Was she married, widowed, or simply careful? My questions about Domino would have to wait. I couldn't drink coffee and talk at the same time, and I'd asked for the coffee. Bless her heart, she'd only filled the cup a little over halfway and it was lightweight; I was able to hold it and drink coffee on my own. My triumph of the day.
XXXXXXXX
Bret stopped in before he started his poker game; at least that's what Lillian told me. I was asleep and he wanted me to stay that way, so I heard about it from her when I finally woke up. I missed Domino there, but Lillian was in a chatty mood and I gathered a lot of information just by listening and going "uh-huh" every once in a while. Marguerite was a widow: her husband had been a deputy marshal and was killed in an escape attempt by a prisoner. Natchez had both a City Police Department and a U.S. Marshal's office. Laura'd lost her entire family to cholera in the swampland and had no other way to support herself.
Lonnie could have had an entire novel written about her. She was the daughter of a plantation owner near New Orleans and his housekeeper, a free woman, who he'd eventually married when the war was over. Lonnie had been educated in the finest New Orleans schools and spoke several different languages, and was married at one time. When her husband beat her she left him and moved to Natchez, where she started a new life. With her breeding and schooling, she could have done almost anything she wanted. She had no money, her father having lost all his wealth with the fall of the South, and she chose to be a 'parlor girl' until she became a madam and hostess for Oscar Wharton. There was also some gossip about her husband coming to Natchez to reclaim his wife. According to the stories, she'd shot and killed him in self-defense.
I listened to Lillian's tales about the girls until I couldn't keep my eyes open anymore, and then went back to sleep. When I woke the second time Domino was back and she had coffee waiting for me. As I drank the hot black liquid she admonished me to make sure not to "talk to strangers" and went to get me something to eat. Today I was able to hold my own fork, thank God, but the girl with the beautiful eyes stayed close just in case I needed anything. When I was finished, which took a while at the speed I moved at, she asked if there was anything else I needed and I grew emboldened by her sweet nature.
"Yes, ma'am. Information."
"Information about what, Bart?"
"Mrs. Hawkins."
She glanced down at her hands. "You caught that, huh?"
"Yes, ma'am."
She fidgeted in the chair she was sitting in and then seemed to make up her mind. "Alright, that's fair. My full name is Dominique Hoffman Hawkins; my husband was Richard Hawkins, and he was a cotton farmer. We were married for four years, and we worked hard until the drought hit last spring, and we lost everything. I kept telling him we'd be alright, and one morning I woke up and he was gone. He left me there with nothing. I did what I could until I couldn't even buy food for the livestock anymore, then I sold them off and lived until all that money was gone. I lost the farm and had nowhere else to go. I tried to get a job, any kind of job, and the only thing I could get was scrubbing floors at the saloons. So I took it, and I worked until Lonnie came to see me one day. She offered me more money, meals, a place to stay, and protection. And here I am. Now you know my story. What's yours?"