A Grave Mistake

by Stella Cameron

  Cyrus smiled and sat on another couch. Tonight he was still in black and wore his collar. Jilly loved to see him like that. She knew how good a man he was, but when she saw him in his “uniform” as she called it to irritate him, she realized how committed he was and how much he liked to let people see he was a man of God. An errant thought about the unusual affection between Cyrus and Madge rushed in and her stomach turned over. They worried her so.

  “Are you brother and sister?” she asked the Pratts suddenly, and felt foolish. “Of course you are. I can see it now. You have exactly the same eyes and hair color, and you wear matching clothes. Twins?” What an idiot. They had to be in their late twenties and most unlikely to choose matching clothes.

  “Ken and Jolene are married,” Cyrus said, the corners of his mouth twitching.

  “We know we look a lot alike,” Jolene said. “That’s what brought us together.” She looked at her husband with open affection.

  “Someone’s coming,” Guy said. He heard squeaky running footsteps.

  Laura arrived. “Daddy doesn’t like it one bit, but Edith wants to see all of you. She says you’re all some of her favorite people.”

  Guy didn’t point out that he’d never met Edith Preston. He wanted to size up what had happened in this house a few hours earlier.

  The Pratts rushed from the room at once. Guy and Jilly followed with Cyrus, and much more slowly. Laura didn’t join them immediately. “I tried to reach you at your place,” Cyrus told Guy. “When you didn’t answer, I drove over there. That mess in your engine bothers me.”

  “It sickens me,” Guy said.

  “There’s a friend of yours there,” Cyrus said, keeping his eyes on Guy’s. “The one with the black Corvette. Nice man, but pacing around waiting to hear from you.”

  “Yeah,” Guy said. He’d all but forgotten his uninvited houseguest. “I’ll give him a call in a bit.”

  “He’s staying at your place?” Jilly said.

  “Uh-huh. Cyrus, can you get a few hours off later tomorrow?”

  “I’ll try.”

  “Good. I’ll let you know when we’ll pick you up. It’ll be late morning.”

  And she, Jilly thought, wasn’t supposed to ask what Guy was talking about. “Pick him up to go where?” she said. They’d reached the bottom of the stairs.

  “It wouldn’t be wise to tell you,” Guy said. “If that changes, you’ll be the first to know.”

  “I hate it when you treat me like a child.”

  “I’m not treating you like a child.” He fought to keep his voice down. “I’m protecting you, dammit. That’s my job.” Surely Cyrus would back him up.

  “Protecting me? Whatever may be happening around here, and we could be imagining the whole thing, whatever happens I’m part of it. So back off with the protection and include me in everything. You got that?”

  Guy looked to Cyrus, who turned away and started up the stairs. “You’re right,” Guy said to Jilly. “There’s probably absolutely nothing to worry about. Pack up your imagination, stop jumpin’ at your own shadow and get on with your life.”

  “You condescending son of a bitch,” Jilly said, and enjoyed it. She left him and ran to catch up with Cyrus.

  Guy closed the space between them and whispered, “Sorry for that.” This would be a bad moment to turn Jilly against him, not that there would ever be a good moment.

  She led the way from the top of the stairs, to the right along a corridor. Guy noted there was a second corridor to the left. When she reached closed double doors, she tapped, turned the handle and peeked inside.

  In she went, leaving the door open.

  Cyrus and Guy followed her with Guy expecting to be thrown out at once.

  “Jilly, darlin’,” a woman in the bed said, smiling wanly. “Come close so I can see you.” Frosted streaks probably covered gray in her long, thick hair. Just as Preston had said, she was beautiful with Jilly’s exotic air of mystery.

  Jilly went to her and kissed her cheek. She smoothed mussed hair away from Edith Preston’s pure white face. “What’s happened?” she whispered.

  The Pratts stood on the other side of the bed and Mr. Preston sat in an overstuffed gray chair, watching and chewing the skin around his nails. His face remained immobile, but his eyes shot fury at the group around the bed, then at Cyrus and Guy.

  Guy could hear voices in a room that opened off the bedroom and presumed the medical personnel were gathered there. One male nurse remained nearby checking monitors and drips.

  “Edith,” Jilly said, “this is my best friend, Guy Gautreaux. He drove me over and I’d like you to meet him.”

  “This isn’t the time,” Preston snapped.

  “Hello, Guy,” Edith said with what could only be described as a knowing smile. “Come closer and let me see you.”

  Jumping to conclusions (he didn’t think he’d ever mention jumping the gun again) seemed to be a family problem. The lady had decided Guy and Jilly were an item, he could see it in her eyes.

  Who knew? They might be heading in that direction—if they hadn’t actually arrived without knowing it.

  He held the dry hand Edith offered and looked into a face that could only belong to someone closely related to Jilly. This was how Jilly would look in her late forties—and very beautiful she would be. He hoped life would be kinder to Jilly so she wouldn’t carry the fine lines of worry Edith had, or the darkness beneath her eyes that he thought would be there even if she hadn’t lost blood. She was too thin, although from what he could see of her beneath the covers, Edith remained very feminine.

  “How do you do, Guy,” Edith said in a whisper. Her hand felt like a small bird in his own. She smiled up at him. “No wonder she’s fallen in love with you. You’ll be able to make sure she’s happy and no one spoils her life. I’m glad.”

  He didn’t dare look at Jilly, but he felt squeezed inside. If he could, he’d do those things for Jilly. “How are you feeling?” he asked Edith. Regardless of what he thought of her, he felt sympathy for the frail woman.

  Jilly felt so tense she ached. Guy’s jaw worked and she felt a strong connection between them.

  Cyrus came to stand beside him. “Hello, Mrs. Preston,” he said. “Are you feeling better?”

  “I’m not sure,” she told him.

  Ken moved forward. He placed his bouquet on the foot of the bed and the nurse promptly removed it. Next Ken took Edith’s other hand, even though a taped-down catheter remained in a vein. He closed his eyes and grew quite still.

  “Jilly’s the only one who should be here,” Preston said suddenly, getting to his feet.

  “Hush,” Edith said, but she smiled at her husband. “This is good for me. They’re life and I need that. I don’t want to die.”

  Instantly, heavy silence fell.

  Ken’s eyes remained shut. “Bring me the tonic,” he murmured. He looked at Edith. “I made it myself and it will help you grow stronger.”

  “Look here. I’ll get one of the docs,” the nurse said.

  “You will not, thank you,” Edith told him. “These are friends of mine and I absolutely trust them.”

  From the bag, Jolene removed a round plastic bowl with a lid, which she took off. She gave the bowl and a spoon to Ken, who stirred a thick brown mixture inside. “Just soup,” he said. “Made from good, natural foods.”

  Laura joined them and once again Edith smiled. “This is my other daughter, Laura.” Then she let Ken feed her the soup. At first she swallowed tiny amounts, but gradually she speeded up, taking spoonful after spoonful until it was all gone. “So good,” she said. “Thank you.”

  Ken gave the empty bowl and the spoon to Jolene, then placed his hands on Edith’s head.

  He had to be wrong, but Guy could swear the faintest blush of color entered Edith’s cheeks.

  “Mumbo jumbo,” Preston said. “If my wife gets sicker, you two will wind up in jail.”

  “Hush, Sam,” Edith said. “Ken and Jolene wouldn’t hurt me.” />
  “She should rest now,” the nurse said.

  “I’m going to sit with you, Edith,” Laura said. “Jilly has to get a ride back with Guy. She’s got to open her shop in the morning—and help with the baking, I should imagine.”

  “Of course,” Edith said. “I love the shop. Pink door and all.” She smiled and looked younger.

  “Did you try Jilly’s marzipan tarts?” Cyrus said. He kissed the tips of his fingers. “My mouth waters just thinkin’ about them.”

  “Marzipan is my favorite,” Edith said. “You’d better get some rest, Jilly.”

  “I’m not in a hurry,” Jilly said.

  Ken began chafing Edith’s arms. First one, then the other, through the sleeves of a silk gown.

  As Guy watched the left sleeve slid higher and he saw a heavy dressing on her wrist. She’d been shaving her legs and accidently cut her wrist—seriously enough to almost kill her?

  Cyrus touched his back, letting him know he’d seen the same thing and had his own thoughts.

  “Did Caruthers stop the bleeding?” Cyrus asked. “I should like to tell him how grateful we all are.”

  “He did it,” Edith said. “He’s so strong. Laura told me all about it. He did it with his hands and told Laura to call for help. When I started to come to, Caruthers was still gripping my arm. It hurt so much. He’s a very strong man.”

  The very strong man was nowhere to be seen.

  “He’s on an errand for me,” Preston said to Cyrus. “I’ll give him your regards when he gets back.”

  Guy nodded. He couldn’t take his eyes from Edith’s left arm. He’d been around enough lowlifes to know needle tracks when he saw them. Cyrus’s fingers pressed slightly harder on his back.

  At least the tracks didn’t look fresh.

  How had Edith got from the bathroom to the bed without dripping blood everywhere on the light-colored carpets? Surly she wouldn’t shave her legs on the bed. If he didn’t think Jilly would accuse him of deliberately making trouble, he’d suggest contacting Spike. As long as Edith continued to improve, Guy decided he’d keep his mouth shut.

  She kept on smiling, apparently oblivious of a new and chilly atmosphere in the room.

  Cyrus’s cell phone rang, and as usual, it took him a couple of seconds to realize he’d got a call. “Excuse me,” he said, and left the room.

  “Father Cyrus Payne here,” he said, looking over the banisters into the hall below, where the front door stood wide open.

  “This is Spike. Madge said I should get in touch with you in case you know where Jilly is.”

  “She’s here,” Cyrus said, keeping his voice down. “We’re at Edwards Place.”

  “Why?”

  “Mind if we discuss that later?”

  “No, but we can’t put off what I’m dealing with. I wish Joe was in town. I’m at Jilly’s place.”

  Cyrus looked at the door to Edith’s bedroom. “Her house? Why?”

  “No, All Tarted Up. Folks across the street called…oh, shit! Keep her out of here.” Spike talked to someone in the background.

  “What?” Cyrus said. A man walked into the hall below, his face shadowed by the brim of his fedora. He shut the door and strode toward the back of the house, but not without feeling around in his pocket for a scrap of paper, spitting out his gum and tossing it into a tall Dresden vase.

  Spike hadn’t answered, although Cyrus could hear voices and shouts in the background.

  “You there, Spike?”

  He told Cyrus he was, and added, “That Lee O’Brien from the Trumpet’s showed up and she doesn’t hear the word no.” He coughed. “I need Jilly over here. You should come with her. This isn’t pleasant.”

  “Just tell me about it.” Sometimes he got irritated when people tried to soften things for him. “Guy’s here, too, by the way.”

  “Fine. Bring him with you. How about the Preston men?”

  “Also here.”

  “I should speak to Preston himself but I want to wait on that. At least for now.”

  “Spike, would you spit it out?”

  “Right. There’s a body in the yard behind Jilly’s café. It’s pretty fresh.

  9

  “Did you do it?”

  Laura closed the bedroom door and gave a smile her best shot. “I haven’t—no, I can’t do it.” Wes was an angel, a tough angel and her drug of choice. And even after she’d been married to him for seven years he could still frighten her. “Everyone’s gone but one of the nurses.”

  Wes gave her an open-handed slap on the shoulder and sent her sprawling over the shoes he’d taken off and onto the floor by the bed.

  She could tell him Daddy would punish him if he knew, and she’d be right, but Wes would only beat her in places that didn’t show until she was too cowed to fight back.

  The anticipation made her shiver. They danced to different beats. Wes got off on pushing her around, then turning into a whimpering puppy. Fortunately, Laura preferred the opposite scenario.

  The perfect couple.

  He kicked her hip. “Don’t look at me like that. I gave you one little job to do and, as usual, you let me down. I hate the sight of you. It’s about time you stopped dyeing your hair red. It makes you look so old.”

  “I don’t dye it.”

  “What’s so hard about paying someone off and making sure you’ve got enough on ’em so they never come back—or talk out of school?”

  Wes was a looker and he knew it. He swaggered, even at times like now when he was barefoot and wearing nothing but a pair of black bikini briefs.

  She made herself look straight into his green eyes. “If it’s so easy, why don’t you do it?”

  He kicked her again.

  Laura curled her legs tightly. She’d have blood-filled bruises by morning.

  The membership in a high-class New Orleans gym, a personal trainer who worked Wes over every day, and lifetime access to a tanning bed kept him bulked up and bronzed. When he smiled, he flashed white teeth. He kept his dark brown hair cut short and carefully gelled up to camouflage a thinning area.

  “Give her money,” Wes said. “I already said you could have as much as it takes. It’ll be a lot less than you think because there’s no way she understands what she could get. You’ve seen how he is with her. I want her out of our lives before he gets into her pants, and she gets into the will.”

  “I don’t believe she would sleep with him. She’s got other interests.” And Laura also thought Jilly had a real honor and honesty about her.

  “What other interests?”

  “Some man who works for Homer Devol out at the gas station.”

  Wes laughed. He stood close to Laura, close enough that the toes of his right foot slid easily upward, between her thighs to her butt, then forward where he could always get a reaction.

  She didn’t try to stop him.

  “A gas jockey is going to hold her interest when Daddy waves the big green bills in front of her face?” he said. “I don’t think so. In fact I’d put money on my Daddy fuckin’ her whenever he decides the moment is right. And she’ll be good. She’s got that thing about her. You can feel it.”

  Laura stared up at him. “Can you? I think you feel that something every time you see a nice ass.”

  “Could be.” He laughed and flexed his shoulders and arms. “But we’re talkin’ about a piece of ass that Daddy intends to get. This time won’t be like the others. He wants her to make him feel like he’s gettin’ fresh Edith all over again. It excites him. I’ve seen sweat when she’s mentioned and Daddy doesn’t sweat.”

  “Sick,” Laura muttered.

  Wes snickered. “Yeah, well you might know about that. We’re goin’ to make a plan, you and me. Our future could depend on it.”

  Laura grabbed his ankle, yanked his foot from between her legs and jerked it upward. All in one motion. Wes lost his balance and fell backward onto the carpet with a loud-enough thud to bring a “Shush” to Laura’s lips.

  “Bitch!�
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  “Bastard.”

  Wes pushed up on his elbows. “Where’s Daddy now?”

  “He’s got a cot in Edith’s room.”

  “Cute. He’s not going to hear us from there.”

  Laura turned her mouth down at the corners and got to her feet. “On your knees,” she told him. She stuck out her tongue and wiggled it.

  Under the tan, Wes turned pale. His eyes looked suddenly feverish and moisture glistened on his forehead.

  The black briefs didn’t stop any movement down there. He was long and thick—that was one of the things she had married him for. That and the money. And she loved him.

  With his eyes at the level of her breasts, he pumped his hips up and down from the floor.

  “You know what you have to do,” she told him. “On your knees, now.”

  Wes followed orders quickly this time and knelt there demurely with his hands clasped over his crotch.

  “Have you gotten better at speaking nicely to me?”

  He shook his head. “You’ll have to make me.”

  Laura went into the closet and returned with a box she’d taken from the top shelf. From inside she pulled out a full helmet fashioned like a metal cage and snapped it open from hinges on top. The contraption slid easily over Wes’s head—it ought to, it had been made for him. A small key locked the leather neck band on both sides.

  “I’m going to have to punish you again. This time I won’t stop until you promise to do whatever I ask you to do.” She poked a finger through the bars, directly at his eye but stopped just short of jabbing him with her fingernail. “Hiss.”

  Wes pulled a sulky face but he hissed softly through his teeth. Metal pressure against the lower half of his face made talking a problem.

  While she had control, why not take even more advantage than she usually did? She pointed to the bulge between his legs. “Jerk off.” He liked this bit—usually.

  Wes hissed again, but at the same time he took his briefs down until they stretched around big, flexed thighs. His butt could have been carved in marble. She strolled to drop down beside him and test his flesh there. Nothing moved. His dick sprang up, begging for attention.