"So Mrs. Totino's word is all you have that they were alive?"
"Yes," I conceded. "But after all, she's the mother of the woman who's missing.
She was part of the family. Her daughter had cancer." "Maybe you should talk to the sister. Mrs. Totino's sister. The one in Metairie."
"I don't know what she could tell me. According to Mrs. Totino, the sister's never been up here. Mrs. Totino is so in love with New Orleans she goes down there every now and then, she says, though somehow it sounded like the sister wasn't exactly happy to have her."
"Wonder why?"
"Well, she can certainly pitch a fit when she wants to, and evidently from what the security guard said the first day I visited, she has a reputation for being unpleasant."
"If she's such a bitch, how come the Juliuses wanted her around?" "To help in the house, while Mrs. Julius was having her cancer treatments, I guess."
"But wouldn't that have made everything worse? I mean, you've got a sick woman, and a teenage girl mad because she had to move away from her boyfriend, and a husband trying to start his own business in a new town. Wouldn't a woman like that be more trouble than she was worth? They could've hired a maid cheaper than building onto the garage."
Put like that, it was mysterious. I would mull it over when I had the time. Right now I had to meet with the members of the Altar Guild, presumably to talk about altar topics, whatever that might include. "I've got to go," I said reluctantly. I moved to pick up the glasses. "I'll get them," Angel said. "I'll just put them in the kitchen and lock the back door on my way out."
So we went inside together, since I needed my purse and keys. I was wearing what I hoped was a suitable tailored khaki skirt and a striped blouse with a bright yellow barrette to hold back my hair, and my soberest pair of glasses, the ones with the tortoiseshell rims. My purse was right inside, at the front door, so I was going down the front porch steps before Angel had even reached the kitchen. It was warm, but not that breathless glaring heat you get in a fullblown Georgia summer. I scuffled through the grass, thinking that buying a riding mower at Sears might be a good idea; the yard was so big. Madeleine suddenly ran from the garage, crossed the yard with speed surprising in such a fat cat, and disappeared under the bushes around the front porch. What on earth had spooked her? I looked into the shadowy interior, walking slowly now, anxious without formulating exactly why.
The tool-room door was open a crack. Surely Angel and I had shut it the day we'd been in there measuring and straightening.
Angel came out of the side kitchen door and was halfway across the sidewalk between the house and the garage.
I took another step and it seemed to me the crack widened some. "Angel," I called, panic sparking along my nerves and surely showing in my voice.
She had a reaction that even at the time struck me as extraordinary. Instead of saying "What?" or "Got a problem?" she broke into a dead run and moved so fast that she was in front of me one split second after the tool-room door had burst open. The man erupting from it was heading straight for us, and he had our ax in his hands.
"Run!" Angel said fiercely. "Run, Roe!"
That seemed extremely disloyal to me, but also intensely desirable. I couldn't abandon Angel, I decided nobly, idiotically, since the man was swinging the ax and yelling and coming straight for us. Angel ducked under his arm, attempted to grab the ax handle, lost her footing on the loose gravel, and went down. My purse was all I had, and I swung it on its long shoulder strap and had the shock of seeing the ax sever the straps and my purse hit the ground. However, that took up one swing and he had to haul back for another try, and that gave Angel time to lunge from her prone position and grab his ankles, so his next step toward me brought him down as the ax whistled harmlessly past me. He hit the driveway with a thud but kept a grip on the ax, and he was trying to maneuver to use it on Angel when I stomped on his hand.
With a howl he let go of the ax, and I stooped and grabbed the handle and slung it as far away as I could sling. I instinctively wanted the ax out of the equation, since sharp cutting edges make me very nervous. But he used his hands after that, spinning, grabbing Angel's ponytail and hitting her face against the gravel. She did not allow the pain to deflect her, but with an expression of absolute determination reached for a spot on his arm and pressed in with her strong fingers. He screamed and let go, and aimed a kick at Angel's head. Swift as a snake she rolled, and the kick landed on her shoulder instead, but I saw her mouth open in pain. She was slowed down enough for him to jump to his feet. I'd been circling futilely, trying to see a vulnerable spot, but they were so fast it was bewildering. When he jumped up, I insanely tried to block him, but he straightarmed me and my feet in their leather-soled suburban low-heeled pumps flew right out from under me, and with a whump! I landed flat on my back with all my wind knocked out. I was quite unable to move as I heard heavy running steps crunch down the driveway.
Angel's face, scraped and bleeding, appeared over me. "All right?" she asked urgently.
I managed to waggle my head a little, still waiting for the intake of breath that would make me whole.
She ran after the intruder, her footfalls lighter and swifter. But I heard a car start up, and I knew Angel would be back soon.
She was, but in no mood to sit around and rehash our experience. "Into the house, now!" she said harshly, scooping me off the ground with one movement. I drew in some air finally. The relief was immense. Angel's arm was under mine and I was being dragged/marched into the house. Angel had my damaged purse in her other hand, extracting the keys as we went, and she cast my purse down while she twisted the key in the lock. She more or less pitched me into the living room while she locked the door and shot the deadbolt behind us. While I sat there still trying to figure out what had happened, Angel ran to the kitchen, with blood from the abrasions on her face dropping down to spot the floor.
I heard her voice, quick and calm. She was on the phone calling the police.
I struggled to my feet and wobbled into the kitchen. Angel was hanging up the phone. She turned to the side kitchen door and shot the deadbolt on it; then the back kitchen door received the same treatment. She went around the kitchen yanking the curtains shut.
Then she turned to me and I realized she was furious. There was nothing slow and deliberate about Angel anymore.
"When I tell you to run, you run," she said in a low, barely controlled voice. "You don't hang around to save my ass. You were in the way out there. I told you to run."
"Angel," I said, realization dawning. "You're my bodyguard. "
We stood staring at one another. Both of us had a lot to think about.
"Why didn't you run?" she asked.
"I couldn't leave you out there." I reached behind me for a towel and handed it to her. "You're dripping all over," I said.
She took it absently and began patting at her face. She glanced down at the towel and seemed surprised at the red blotches on it. "You have to go to the doctor."
"No," she said. "We'll take care of it. We're not going anywhere until Shelby checks the road between here and town. That's what he's doing now." "That's who you called."
She nodded. She went to look out the curtains.