Gypsy Magic

by Rebecca York; Ann Voss Peterson; Patricia Rosemoor

  Lizzie’s incredulous “You’re out of your mind!” brought him out of his musings.

  “Am I?”

  “Absolutely!”

  Perhaps he was, for after witnessing Sabina’s selflessness in healing Garner, he’d been shamed into taking action at last. Sabina and Garner were safely on their way to Baton Rouge to check out Richard Granville’s story—that Lizzie’s father had gone on government business there late on the night of the murder—so investigating closer to home was, for the moment, his responsibility alone.

  “There’s no finer Southern gentleman than Daddy,” Lizzie told him.

  “Are you saying that a Southern gentleman can’t also be a murderer?”

  “Not if you’re talking about my father.”

  “You wouldn’t be a little shortsighted, now would you?”

  “Go to hell, Andrei Sobatka!”

  “Too late. I already have an intimate acquaintance with the place.”

  She turned and again tried to escape, but he grabbed her forearm and swung her back against a column. As fast as he’d ever moved, he slashed her arms up above her head and pinned them there, his long fingers gripping her delicate wrists. He could feel her pulse race. Then he pinned her body to the pillar with his.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she asked with a gasp.

  What was he doing? Most likely being a fool. He couldn’t help himself. Apparently she was having the same problem, for he sensed need trembling through her, saw deep into her darkening amber gaze where desire for him smoldered. He knew what women wanted—Gypsy magic, Lizzie would call it—and it was both a blessing and a curse. Nothing could come of such torture, not anymore, but memory plagued him and for a moment he allowed himself the fantasy.

  Dipping his head toward her hair, he inhaled her scent, as rich and ripe as Mother Earth, a combination of magnolia soap and fine leather and horseflesh. He remembered that combination of scents. Remembered more. Considering the way she froze, the way her breath came in little catches, he suspected she remembered, as well.

  Miss Elizabeth Granville, debutante, was held fast to the spot, licking her lips, as nervous as a cat. He almost gave way to temptation and licked them, too.

  Almost.

  With a sardonic laugh, he backed off and saluted her. “Tell your daddy that Andrei Sobatka is looking for him.”

  She said nothing, merely stared at him as he leaped off the porch, not even touching the stairs. He felt her gaze on his back as he swiftly moved off. The sensation never left him, not until he disappeared from sight and made his way back through the bayou and across the road to the carnival grounds.

  Chapter Two

  No doubt about it, Andrei Sobatka was a heartbreaker and always had been, Elizabeth knew. Coming back here to the carnival was so difficult, more difficult than she’d thought. Mentally arming herself against the man’s charms, she stepped foot on the carnival grounds for the first time in almost a decade.

  Familiar sights and sounds—guys hawking rides and games, the smell of popcorn and funnel cake—brought her back to old times. She’d always been attracted to this colorful disarray so at odds with her own ordered life. As an only child who’d suffocated from her parents’ sheltering, she’d wondered what it would be like to be so free…and one summer she had found out.

  But the past was the past, Elizabeth reminded herself as she caught sight of a Gypsy girl in long skirts and jingling bracelets. Gliding toward the trailers and humming to herself, the girl seemed lost in her own world.

  “Excuse me,” Elizabeth said. “Can you tell me where I can find Andrei Sobatka?”

  The girl jerked around, her dark hair swinging along her shoulders. Not a girl, but a woman, slender and fey, who gave Elizabeth the once-over, then arched pencil-thin eyebrows at her business suit and high-necked blouse. Smothering a giggle, she said, “He’s working of course.”

  Knowing she was overdressed for the occasion—a self-defense way of putting herself in the superior position— Elizabeth asked, “Where?”

  For a moment she didn’t think the young woman would answer her, then wondered if she was waiting to be tipped for the information. The odd way the Gypsy was staring at her…

  But before Elizabeth could put a hand to her shoulder bag, the Gypsy smothered another giggle and said, “Tilta-Whirl.”

  Before her thank-you was out of her mouth, the girl had disappeared. Shrugging, Elizabeth headed in the direction of the rides.

  And then she saw him. Andrei. Dark hair swathed his rugged bronzed features—high forehead, well-defined cheekbones, square chin softened by a slight indentation. She remembered once exploring that shallow cleft with a fingertip, remembered the way he’d trapped her hand to suck on…

  With a sharply indrawn breath, Elizabeth pushed the memory back to the purgatory where it belonged.

  Even from a distance, she responded to Andrei’s easy smile and sultry good looks. This morning he was using them on three high-school girls, who seemed unable to make up their minds about trying out his ride.

  “Get your tickets, lovely ladies,” he drawled. He seemed distracted for a moment—had he spotted her? Elizabeth wondered—then quickly went on, “I promise, I’ll give the best ride in southern Louisiana just for you.”

  “But it’ll mess up my hair,” one of the girls complained as she shot an annoyed look at the knot of boys standing in line for tickets.

  “Real men like messy hair,” Andrei told her. “And they especially like girls who aren’t afraid to be bold.”

  Though Andrei hadn’t looked directly at her, Elizabeth knew he was aware of her presence—she figured the last comment had been meant for her ears. He had a way with women of all ages. Seeming to know what they wanted to hear, he gave it to them. The girl didn’t know that. Obviously flattered, the teenager whispered to her friends, and, laughing, they headed straight for the ticket booth lineup.

  Elizabeth stood her ground and watched Andrei pretend she wasn’t there as he stopped the ride and kept his dark gaze pinned to the people exiting.

  How dare he show up at her doorstep to accuse her father of her mother’s murder and then when she pays him a return visit, ignore her!

  “All aboard,” Andrei called, finally swinging his gaze to Elizabeth as if challenging her right to be there.

  Behind him, the girls were clambering into the last vacant car of the ride. The one he’d talked to was primping, fussing with her hair, no doubt enchanted by him.

  Remembering how Andrei had enchanted her into a night she would never forget, Elizabeth pitied the foolish girl.

  She watched him check the safety bar of each car to make certain it was secure. Even with his back to her, she felt a strong pull to the broad shoulders revealed by a sleeveless T-shirt and the tight buttocks caressed by a pair of jeans. He was a beautiful male specimen, she admitted, even more beautiful than he’d been as a teenager.

  He was also more arrogant, if that was possible, as evidenced by his knowing look aimed at her before he started the ride. Surely he didn’t think her visit was personal.

  Suspecting he did, Elizabeth fumed.

  For years, she’d fantasized about Andrei returning—worse, she’d longed to hear a declaration of love when he did. But fantasies were for teenagers, she thought, glancing at the girls on the ride, who shrieked with glee as their car seemed to jerk and spin harder and faster than the others.

  Puzzled, Elizabeth wondered whether Andrei had done something to make the ride more thrilling for them alone.

  Watching more closely, she suddenly became aware that she, in turn, was being watched. Meeting Andrei’s bold gaze, she felt as young and inexperienced as one of the screaming girls. He looked away first and ended the ride, and Elizabeth forced herself to remain where she was.

  While the teenagers scrambled out of the cars, Andrei signaled to a young worker, who jogged up and took over the controls.

  Then Andrei strolled straight for her and indicated they sho
uld move away from the ride. She followed him until the delighted screams grew faint. He stopped at the rear of the fun house. Now aware that this is where Garner Rousseau had been attacked, she grew a bit nervous. Such an odd choice, as if Andrei wanted to keep her on edge.

  “So why are you here, Lizzie?” he asked in that slow, syrupy way of his that made her flush all over.

  She stared into his eyes, dark as ever, but now shadowed with something she hadn’t seen before. Secrets? She shifted and blinked.

  “I want Mama’s murderer to pay for his crime.”

  “As do we all.”

  “But that wouldn’t be Daddy. I believe with all my heart that he is innocent. Can you say the same about Carlo?”

  “The facts speak for themselves. Everyone who has tried to clear Carlo’s name has either ended up dead or been targeted for murder. Plus, there’s a photograph of your mother’s brooch with a bloody fingerprint on it.”

  “I don’t remember anything about a fingerprint.”

  “Exactly.”

  A chill shot through her. “Indeed, that’s all troubling. But it doesn’t make Daddy guilty.”

  “Your mother was cheating on him—that gives him motive.”

  She winced. “We don’t even know that he was aware of Mama’s affair before…”

  Before she’d been murdered, Elizabeth didn’t have to say. Though it was likely, she admitted silently. The echoes of heated words between her parents haunted her. They’d argued, in fact, on the very evening Mama had been murdered, before Daddy had taken off for Baton Rouge.

  “Actually he did know.” Andrei slipped a folded piece of paper from his pocket. “I think you’d better read this.”

  She backed away. “What is it?”

  “A letter from your mother to Carlo. It’s a copy. We found the real thing when we found Valonia’s body—she was holding it in her hand.”

  Elizabeth licked her lips and took the copy from him. She scanned the missive—yes, it was Mama’s handwriting. She’d seen it often enough, every time she went through her scrapbook, which she did often so she wouldn’t forget her mother.

  …my husband Richard has found out about us. He’s very angry and I fear he’s going to do something terrible…

  Feeling faint, Elizabeth took a deep breath and gathered every ounce of Granville starch she could muster.

  Shoving the offending letter back at him, she said, “This doesn’t prove anything.”

  Andrei’s expression was disbelieving. “What is it going to take to convince you, Lizzie?”

  “That my father is a murderer? Proof positive.”

  “There’s definite proof of evidence tampering.”

  “Anything that points to Daddy?”

  “No, not exactly.”

  Elizabeth closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Well, then.”

  Andrei’s “Though he was a friend of the D.A. at the time” shook her relief a tad.

  “Claude Rousseau had a lot of friends,” she insisted. “He was a politician. That didn’t mean he would overlook a murder.”

  Andrei shrugged. “Okay, then other than Carlo or your father, who else might have had a motive to kill your mother?”

  “Everyone loved Mama.” She shook her head. She would not believe her father had anything to do with her mother’s murder. She wouldn’t! “No one.”

  “Someone did.”

  “Then we need to find out who.”

  “Did your mother ever have a problem with anyone in Les Baux?” Andrei asked. “Or more to the point, did one of the upstanding citizens have have a problem with her for some reason?”

  “Not that I remember.” At least he was willing to consider there could be another suspect, Elizabeth thought.

  “You need to learn for certain. Talk to her friends, find out if they were aware of any disagreements, no matter how petty.”

  Elizabeth thought about it for a moment. “If anyone would know, Miss Ina would. She’s the town’s social maven. Or was. She’s getting on in years now, and she doesn’t get out unless someone accompanies her, but her mind is still sharp, and she has always had her finger on the pulse of the town. If someone from Les Baux has something to hide, I would bet Miss Ina knows about it.”

  “She sounds like a good place to start.”

  “I can probably catch her this afternoon. And you’ll quiz your colleagues here at the carnival?” Elizabeth asked, growing warm when Andrei arched an eyebrow, no doubt at her formal wording. Trying not to appear flustered, she went on, “It could be one of them, as well, even if it isn’t Carlo. Or do the same people work here who did ten years ago?”

  “A few.”

  Andrei’s visage darkened, no doubt at her intimation that another Gypsy might still be responsible. “Hopefully someone here has a long memory, as well.”

  “Your mother, to start,” Elizabeth said. “She was the prosecutor’s chief witness, after all.”

  “My mother is no longer with the carnival. After my father died several years ago, she had no reason to stay.”

  “Oh.”

  “But of course I will call her, though I doubt that her story will have changed.”

  “Which you should carefully consider,” Elizabeth murmured.

  “You’re calling my mother a liar?”

  Elizabeth’s brows shot up. After all, he’d called her father a murderer and a snake. “Just the opposite.”

  “Then you’re saying my mother couldn’t be a liar because she’s a gadji like you.”

  “I don’t make those distinctions.”

  “You made one about me yesterday.”

  Having accused him of being a liar and equating that with Gypsy, Elizabeth was ashamed of herself. She stared down at a spot on the ground. “I was angry, and I apologize. Now, about your mother—”

  “You know she didn’t see anything, right?”

  “I know she overheard an argument between Mama and Carlo,” Elizabeth said.

  It seemed Mama had been arguing with everyone in her life that day, even her, Elizabeth remembered. That argument had been about the man standing before her. He’d been just a boy then, of course, and it hadn’t made sense to Elizabeth that Mama had wanted her to stay away from him. And in light of the ensuing circumstances, it made even less sense—unless Mama had suspected they were both in danger.

  Elizabeth went on, “Maybe she’ll remember more than Mama trying to break it off with Carlo.”

  “Such as?”

  “A name. Someone who knew about them. Perhaps the person who went to Daddy? That person might have had an ulterior motive.”

  “You’re taking this seriously.”

  “Of course I am.” That letter was damning—she would do anything to clear her father’ name.

  “I didn’t expect it of you.”

  “Maybe there’s more to me than you think.” She held out her hand to shake. “It’s a deal, then, right? We work together to find the real murderer. Even if it still turns out to be Carlo?”

  “Even if it turns out to be your father?”

  “It won’t.”

  Only after he took her hand, after he traced the lines of her palm with his thumb, which made her begin to shake deep inside, did he ask, “Are you willing to take a blood oath?”

  The tension building in her multiplied. “Blood oath?”

  “That what we learn we share? No protecting anyone.”

  “I’m willing to share information. The blood part…not so much.”

  His expression intent, Andrei said, “We don’t actually do the blood ceremony anymore. It’s merely an expression.”

  Pretty certain he was placating her, she figured dropping the subject was in her best interests. “Oh, all right, then.”

  She tried to pull away, but Andrei hung on to her hand and drew her closer.

  “Instead of the blood, we can use a kiss to seal the bargain.”

  Her bones threatened to melt at the suggestion, and she realized that part of her—the youn
g, silly part that hadn’t quite grown up—wanted him to kiss her. His eyes had narrowed to slits and his nostrils flared as he stared at her from beneath long, thick lashes. He drew so close, she could feel his breath on her face, and yet he hesitated. How ridiculous—he was merely baiting her for his own amusement.

  “One more thing, Lizzie.”

  Elizabeth licked her lips in preparation to protest. But all she could eek out was “What?”

  “The killer is still out there. Be very careful. I don’t want you to end up like your mother.”

  She started. “My mother? You mean…dead?” A terrible thrill shot through her as she protested, “But I have no enemies.”

  “Alas, Lizzie, by aligning yourself with me on this, you do.”

  Without warning, he tugged her against him and claimed her lips in a hard, fast kiss that nevertheless sent her reeling. Thrown back ten years, she remembered another such kiss—and the frantic lovemaking that had followed.

  But not now. This time he released her and she had to catch herself from falling.

  “Tonight,” he said, “after the carnival closes we’ll compare notes.”

  Then she stood there, senses on hold, as Andrei stalked away from her and onto the midway, where he was swallowed by the crowd.

  “Oh,” she murmured, fingers touching lips that tingled and demanded more.

  Well, there wouldn’t be more. She would make certain of that. The carnival would be gone in a few days, and until then she needed a clear head to deal with Andrei Sobatka. A clear head to learn the truth.

  The truth…could they really find it after ten years? They had to, or possibly an innocent man would die and a guilty one would go free.

  Her mind whirled with the responsibility she was taking on.

  If neither Carlo nor her father had killed her mother—and she was certain her father hadn’t—then who had?

  Chapter Three

  On her way out of the house that afternoon to carry through with her end of the bargain, Elizabeth hesitated when the telephone rang.

  She could let the answering machine pick up…but she didn’t.