Mother.

"Oh, my God!"

"There's more. The district attorney served your mother notice that he was going to ask for an indictment against her for fraud, that she was facing a prison sentence. That was the day she really died, I think."

Tracy was seething with a wave of helpless anger. "But all she had to do was tell them the truth--- explain what that man did to her."

The old foreman shook his head. "Joe Romano works for a man named Anthony Orsatti. Orsatti runs New Orleans. I found out too late that Romano's done this before with other companies. Even if your mother had taken him to court, it would have been years before it was all untangled, and she didn't have the money to fight him."

"Why didn't she tell me?" It was a cry of anguish, a cry for her mother's anguish.

"Your mother was a proud woman. And what could you do? There's nothing anyone can do."

You're wrong, Tracy thought fiercely. "I want to see Joe Romano. Where can I find him?"

Schmidt said flatly, "Forget about him. You have no idea how powerful he is."

"Where does he live, Otto?"

"He has an estate near Jackson Square, but it won't help to go there, Tracy, believe me."

Tracy did not answer. She was filled with an emotion totally unfamiliar to her: hatred. Joe Romano is going to pay for killing my mother, Tracy swore to herself.

She needed time. Time to think, time to plan her next move. She could not bear to go back to the despoiled house, so she hecked into a small hotel on Magazine Street, far from the French Quarter, where the mad parades were still going on. She had no luggage, and the suspicious clerk behind the desk said, "You'll have to pay in advance. That'll be forty dollars for the night."

From her room Tracy telephoned Clarence Desmond to tell him she would be unable to come to work for a few days.