A Grave Mistake

by Stella Cameron

  “Home here, you mean.”

  “Home in the Garden District. Prytania Street. Real close to St. Charles Avenue.”

  “An apartment?” Jilly asked.

  “Hunsingore House. It’s a beauty,” Laura responded. “Wes and I live there, too, when we’re in N’awlins.”

  Jilly had no concept of how Edith and Mr. Preston lived in New Orleans. She’d never been to their place there, never been invited. Tomorrow she would find this house, and meanwhile, she’d say nothing more to Laura. There was a big problem to deal with right here before the day was out and his name was Guy.

  As if she’d summoned him up by thinking his name, the man walked into the shop. He looked in the region of her face but didn’t meet her eyes. Passing the counter, not bothering to greet anyone else present, he said, “I’ll be in the kitchen,” to Jilly, and strolled out there as if he owned the place.

  “How are you coming with that?” Jilly asked Laura, praying to keep her temper and her voice down. She picked up two cups and walked over to the Pratts’ table.

  Laura passed her on the way back. “I’m doin’ just great here. How about Wazoo and I watch the shop while you go talk to Mr. Sunshine?”

  Already toting four cups, her fingers wound through the handles, Wazoo headed to the tables and gave Jilly a smile and a nod as she went.

  Okay, curtain time. She found Guy, with his back to her, apparently examining the back door. He looked as if he’d just got out of the shower. His damp hair stood in wet spikes, he was clean shaven, and he wore a gray-and-white-striped shirt tucked into blue jeans. The shirt actually had creases down the sleeves from an iron and she doubted he was the kind to take clothes to the cleaners. On the other hand, she couldn’t visualize him at an ironing board.

  “What did I tell you?” he said, swinging around. He must have felt her behind him.

  “Which order would that have been, specifically? You give so many.” Step carefully, buddy.

  “I told you to keep this door locked and it’s not. Didn’t you get the picture the other night? A man got shot at point-blank range in your backyard. What does it take to make you wake up? A bullet in…” He crammed his mouth shut and glared at her.

  Jilly glared back, even if she did feel anything but sure of herself. “A bullet in my head? Was that what you were going to say? Wouldn’t that do the reverse of wake me up? You can be so mean.”

  “You drive me to it. I’m—Shoot, Jilly, I’m tryin’ to take care of you.”

  “Don’t bother, I’m not your responsibility.”

  “The hell you’re not. I’ve made you my responsibility, so get used to it.”

  “Keep your voice down. You’d better leave. Any minute there’ll be people wantin’ cooked breakfasts. And the door has been locked. I expect some garbage was just taken out.”

  “You’re mad at me,” Guy said, taking a step toward her.

  Jilly didn’t retreat. “You don’t understand me, but that’s not your fault.”

  “This is because I couldn’t come back to you the night before last.”

  “When you arranged for Wazoo to move in with me, you mean? Why would that make me mad? I surely didn’t want you clomping in expectin’ to be waited on at whatever hour in the mornin’ you decided to show up. Anyway, I’m used to being disappointed.” She didn’t want to think about past patterns.

  “See, you are mad. Why try to hide it?”

  “You have a dog at my house and she’s grievin’ for you. Never did understand a dog’s loyalties. I’ll lend you a key to go over and get her. Lock up behind you, please. Wouldn’t want to get shot in the head when I go home.”

  “Jilly.” His voice softened and he looked pained. “I didn’t come to fight.”

  “Why, forgive me for mistaking your shouting at me for fighting words. I should have known you were bein’ nice. I don’t want to discuss any of this, not now, not ever. Here’s the key.” She put it in his hand. “Leave it there. I’ve got another one.”

  “I worked all through that night,” he said quietly. “If I could have, I’d have come to you—that’s what I wanted. Yesterday I went with Nat into New Orleans to see if we could find anything on Rathburn. We didn’t. Then we got back and—”

  “Spent hours shut away with Cyrus,” she finished for him. He should have called and if he didn’t know it, he was beyond civilizing.

  “I intended to call you.”

  “Intended?” So he thought of calling her and still didn’t do it.

  “The time got away from me.”

  “You look well rested to me. You could have picked up a phone at some point. And, let me see, did I forget, or did you bother to mention the breakfast we were supposed to have here?”

  “We couldn’t have it here.” He scrubbed at his hair. “Why do women have to keep pickin’? Wazoo was with you last night and the night before. I didn’t want to interrupt and I could hardly have turned up for a romantic evenin’, could I?”

  “You could have said something about eatin’ somewhere else yesterday mornin’.” Her eyes prickled and she blinked. “And I’m not interested in any romantic evenings with you. Or romantic anythings.” Darn, why did it hurt so much that he could be casual and harsh?

  “I wanted to tell you I’m goin’ back to New Orleans tomorrow morning and I’ll spend the night there.”

  “You don’t owe me any explanations. Just pick up Goldilocks and be good to her.”

  “She’s not my dog.”

  “Oh, Guy, quit! Take that nice animal and get lost.”

  He put his hands on his hips and jutted his chin, and then moved so fast she couldn’t begin to fend him off. “Not here,” she said. But Guy ignored her warning and gathered her up in a tight hug instead. He lifted her from her feet and kissed her until she couldn’t catch a breath. Then he set her down and grinned with that pure male satisfaction that could make a woman furious—or helpless.

  “Admit it,” he said. “You missed me.”

  She shook her head and smiled, even though she’d rather bite him. “Whatever you want to hear, hear it,” she told him.

  “Like I said, you missed me.” He slipped a hand around her neck and pulled her so close she had to look up at him. “But not as much as I missed you. I’m in a bad place, Jilly—with the killin’, and what Nat has told me, and some history that may fit in to all of it if I can just put it together.

  “I’ve got to get out and talk to Homer. I’m worried about how he may be reactin’ to me showin’ up at all odd hours. He deserves to be able to count on me bein’ on a schedule. I know he gave me a job because you were all worried about me being a morose son of—being morose—but he did, and does need help. I told him I’d be around and reliable for a long time, and if I did decide to go back to New Orleans, he’d get plenty of notice. I want to work for him. The job keeps me grounded. Anyway, he may be waitin’ to fire me by now.”

  “Homer wouldn’t do that,” Jilly said, shocked at the idea. “All you have to do is explain what’s goin’ on.”

  He brought his face close to hers and spoke into her ear. “That’s the one thing I can’t do. And I’m askin’ you not to share a thing I tell you.”

  She didn’t understand, but she nodded.

  “You are special, Jilly. Probably too special for me.” He kissed the corner of her mouth and played there with the tip of his tongue. “I came because I had to. I get so lonely for the sight of you.” His hands, covering her breasts, shocked her, but she moved into him. Guy kissed her again.

  Jilly shuddered, returned the kiss—quick and hard—and stepped away. “When will you get back from…” She mustn’t ask when he’d be back. He wasn’t even leaving till tomorrow.

  “As soon as I can,” he said.

  She followed him into the shop, where the volume of conversation should be a whole lot louder and said, “Bye,” in as normal a voice as she could manage when he left.

  Guy opened the door again and beckoned to Jilly. She went to hi
m and he put his lips on her ear. “Any problems while I’m gone, you call Spike, got it?”

  “Got it.”

  “I feel better just seein’ you.” He looked into her face.

  Jilly whispered, “Okay,” and he strode away.

  When she turned back to the café not a soul would meet her eyes, except Wazoo, who actually looked as if she wanted to cry. With all the equipment humming in the kitchen, they couldn’t have heard what she and Guy said.

  “The table by the window wants cooked,” Wazoo said, rocking back and forth and sniffing. “Muffulettas and hush puppies with red beans on the side. I’ll get started.”

  She swept away to the kitchen, her black-and-purple silk skirts swishing and floating. And the instant she was out of sight, Reb got up and took Jilly aside. “I don’t know how Lil knows Marc’s sister, Amy, is with us at Clouds End, but she does. And she took pleasure in letting Wazoo know. Wazoo and Amy were friends and now Wazoo’s feelings are hurt because Amy hasn’t gotten in touch with her.”

  Wazoo stuck her head from the kitchen door and beckoned to Jilly. “We’re bein’ made fools of,” she whispered. “Every which direction there’re secrets and we—you and me—got to dig deep and get the truth. Reb just told you about Amy, didn’t she?”

  “I don’t think it’s all that bad,” Jilly said.

  “Not that bad,” Wazoo said. “You plain don’t know, Jilly. In case you forgot I sang at Amy Girard’s first funeral.”

  12

  “I left the front door open, me,” Wazoo said, out of breath more from excitement than exertion, Guy thought. She’d just run from Jilly’s driveway and up the street a way to meet him. “Jilly, she think I gotta go back to Rosebank.”

  Guy bent over her. “You told her that’s what the call was? You said my call was really from someone at Rosebank?”

  “I did. I wasn’t about to risk her refusin’ to see you, not me.”

  Guy whipped off his hat and ran a hand through his hair. “Wazoo, you are a kind woman with a good heart.”

  “No such thing,” she said. “Ask anyone.”

  He had to smile. “You’re right,” he told her. “I was tryin’ to be generous, is all. But you did an unfortunate thing, my friend. More unfortunate for you than me.”

  “How you figure that, handsome?”

  Guy shook his head slowly. “Because Jilly is going to know you set her up. As soon as I tell her I called to let her know I was comin’ over and you said she was in the shower, I reckon your name will be mud.”

  She laughed, a rich, low sound that demanded smiles. “Hah. I always did say men got a bi-ig handicap. They logical. What they don’t remember is we women logical and sneaky. Now I gotta go.”

  He stepped in front of her before she could make a dash for her van at the curb in front of Jilly’s. “Sneaky? Did you do somethin’ sneaky? Now, Wazoo, you know you don’t want to come between Jilly and me. You do that and you might get squashed.”

  “All you gotta do is tell the truth and shame the devil, Guy Gautreaux. I left to do you a favor. Now, don’t you go lettin’ on it was you who called me.”

  “You females can drive a man crazy,” he said. And how. “All you had to do was tell her I was comin’. It’s not a big deal.”

  “Out of my way, lover boy. You not thinkin’ at all. She madder than a gator with rubber teeth at you—even if she does go all misty-eyed when she thinks she’s not bein’ watched. She’s thinkin’ ’bout you, but no way you’d get in tonight ’less I helped you. Now go on. ”

  “Get in the van,” Guy said, checking around. “Get in and lock your doors.”

  Her black eyes caught the moonlight and he thought she gave him a quizzical look, but she got into the van and he heard the locks click. She rolled down the window. “I decided I like you after all,” Wazoo said. “Come closer and I’ll give you some advice.”

  “Do I have a choice?” He walked to her door.

  “No choice at all.” He smelled her musky scent and recalled the way Nat looked at her. “What’s the advice?”

  “You missed out once, lover boy. No!” Her hand shot through the window and she grabbed a handful of his shirt before he could turn away. “Quit runnin’ from the past, from the truth. You lost a woman you loved a lot and you been blamin’ yourself ever since. How could you have known she’d die lookin’ at some piece of jewelry she wished you to buy for her. She never told you about it. It could just have been some other woman left alone in that shop when a crazy man came in. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time. My advice is that you don’t put that dear lost girl between you and Jilly. Leave her out here. Let her go. She’ll be happy for you.”

  Guy couldn’t take his eyes off Wazoo’s face. She held him fast with the challenge she’d made. And, damn it, she was right—but he also knew it was easier to know what a man should do than it was for the man to do it. “Okay,” he said at last. “I understand. Thank you.”

  She let him go, rolled her window up again and drove off.

  The walk from the curb to Jilly’s front door didn’t take long enough. He wanted to keep this visit light and start making Jilly really comfortable with him again. Hey, so that wasn’t all he wanted. He might be tired, but he wasn’t dead yet, and making love, long and slow, or fast and wild… A message came from a southern region. “Down,” he muttered, turning away from the house.

  Jilly heard a voice outside. The door was ajar and she eased it open. Guy stood there with his back to her.

  “Get down,” he said.

  “You get down!” Jilly threw herself on the hall floor and peered up at Guy. “Right now. Omigod, where’s your gun? Don’t you have a gun anymore?”

  He spun around, crouched and reached to pat the top of her head. “It’s okay. There’s nothing wrong.”

  “Don’t do that patting stuff to me,” she told him. “Who’s out there? Get in here, Guy Gautreaux. On your stomach and crawl. Backward. No, forward. Better get shot in the foot than the head.”

  “Or the rear. Don’t you ever change, you,” Guy said. He sprang into the hall and landed on his haunches beside Jilly’s prone body, stuck out a hand, shut and locked the door. “What a greetin’.”

  She angled her head to look at him. Jilly didn’t look too amused. “Just what do you think you’re doin’? Opening my front door and standing outside tryin’ to scare me to death.”

  Wazoo, you did this to me. “I didn’t actually open it. Honestly, I didn’t. Don’t be mad, cher—I had to come and see you.” He dropped to sit cross-legged.

  His “I wouldn’t do anything bad” little-boy expression almost made Jilly laugh. Almost. “Why did you tell me to get down?”

  “I didn’t… Not you…”

  He was being weird. “Who, then?”

  “Isn’t the floor hard?”

  “I’m comfortable, thanks,” she said, but scrambled to her feet. “Who were you talkin’ to?”

  “Women. You never can leave a thing alone.” This was funny, but he really didn’t have a clever escape route.

  She surprised him by offering a hand and then pulling him as if she could lift him from the floor. “Is someone hiding out there watching the house for you?” she asked.

  “Nope.”

  “You can tell me. He was too obvious so you told him to get down so he wouldn’t be seen?”

  Why was it so difficult for him to explain himself to her?

  He could say she was right, but knowing his luck she’d insist on going out to say hi. “I threw a rock at a stump. Looked like it went too high and I was goin’ to miss. So I said, get down.”

  “What stump?”

  Shee-it. “Post. Gatepost or somethin’.” Will you let it go?

  “Weird,” she said. “The last time you threw rocks around here, you broke a window.”

  “I’m still embarrassed about that, okay?”

  “Forget it.” She tightened the sash on her robe. “Wazoo must have left the door open by accident. She ha
d to go back to Rosebank.”

  “Good.”

  Jilly decided to let that pass. He must be as edgy as she was and it wouldn’t hurt her to be kind. She wanted to be kind.

  “Come on in,” she said. “Question is, where? I don’t like the sitting room anymore—all I can think of is someone getting through the window and taking Goldilocks to the shop. Weird.”

  Guy faced her in the hall, turning his hat in his hands. “Who told you they came inside? I thought they just let Goldilocks out.”

  “I guess Turner didn’t come in. But Spike did and he said someone had entered. Does it matter? They got in and out of that window. They’d gone through things but left them more or less tidy and nothing seems to be gone. I feel weird all the time, though.”

  “Weird’s your word of the day, hmm?”

  Jilly frowned at him. “The windowsill is scratched, and the wall, but the cops couldn’t find any evidence to use.”

  “I’ll put on a fresh coat of paint for you.”

  “Guy! Don’t you think this is weird, standing in the hall talkin’ like this?”

  Now she mentioned it… “Yes. Could we sit in the kitchen?”

  “There’s a crack where the curtains don’t meet. Someone could see in.”

  “You plannin’ on doin’ something you wouldn’t want anyone else to see?” He closed his mouth.

  “We’ll go in the sitting room.”

  He didn’t like seeing her so uptight. “Would you feel better in your bedroom?”

  Jilly laughed. “Oh, boy, you do have a way with words. This is one weird night. I think Goldilocks followed the criminal around, pointin’ out anything he might have missed. Then she jumped out the window after him and followed him to All Tarted Up. I’m grateful he shut her inside rather than shootin’ her.”

  “So am I,” he said, and meant it. He smiled at her. “Hey, where is that dog?”

  “Asleep on my bed, I guess. She sleeps a lot.”

  “Damn it,” Guy said, then went to the foot of the stairs and shouted, “Goldilocks, get down here, you good-for-nothing hound. Now. ”

  The next sound infuriated Jilly. “Idiot,” she said, bounding past Guy and up the stairs. “She’s scratching the inside of the door to pieces. I thought you were supposed to come and pick her up earlier.”