“If it doesn’t make him do something desperate before they take off. Light’s gone out! He’s on the move. And speakin’ of storms, this is a doozy. It’s going to make the going tougher.”
He and Nat were out of the car and approaching the cemetery on the balls of their feet—fast.
Petit and his partner had slewed to a stop and they caught up. Guy recognized the partner, a tall, serious-faced black kid who had already showed signs of becoming a good cop.
Petit had been a middleweight boxer and he still kept in shape. “In there?” He nodded toward the tombs.
“Unfortunately,” Guy told him. “Not what we expected. A male suspect chasing a female suspect and another woman following to try to help.”
“Holy shit,” Petit said. “Some of these people don’t have the sense they were born with.” Petit’s Irish brogue belied the fact that he’d never been to the land of his fathers.
Guy whispered, “It’s all about listening now. Fan out.”
With Nat in the lead, he and Guy moved straight forward—very slowly. Nat turned and grabbed Guy. “We should have told those two not to use flashlights.”
“Petit’s smart—so’s the kid,” Guy whispered.
Along one crooked path between tombs, they went, then back along another. They’d worked together so long they didn’t have to talk to make a decision. Nat stood still and Guy stood beside him. They raised their heads to listen.
Nothing but the rain and the wind.
Guy turned hard left and dodged this way and that in a jagged route, stopping in the cover of each tomb he reached.
A thud and a curse stopped him. Nat had tripped over a decorative curbstone and fallen. He had the sense to stay where he was and keep still.
Guy did hear something then. A rustling, a grunt. Could be Petit.
“Guy?”
A thick voice, Jilly’s voice, reached him, and so did a string of foul language and threats. “Little fucker,” a man said. “Open your mouth again and it’ll be the last time. Keep still.”
Nat pushed to his knees and looked up at Guy. He put a finger over his lips as if Guy might be fool enough to call out.
He turned the other way and went to the opposite end of the tomb.
“Freeze!” Petit’s bass voice bellowed out. “Drop her and get down on your face.”
Guy winced, and waited.
A single shot rang out with the sound of a grenade in an enclosed room. And someone screamed.
“Careful,” Guy told Nat, who stood behind him again. “Could be a move to get us in the open.”
“Shit,” Nat said. “There he went.”
Guy saw it, too, and started to run. A figure, hunched over and running about two tombs ahead. He was only visible a moment. Guy, with Nat at his heels, arrived at the point where the perp had disappeared.
A moan stopped Guy. Petit’s sidekick huddled on the ground grasping his thigh, and not more than a few feet from him sat Jilly, holding her head.
“C’mon,” Nat said to Petit. “You stay, Guy, I can still hear him crashing around.”
The detective and the beat cop took off and Guy dashed to Jilly while part of him didn’t want to leave the chase.
“He’s been shot,” Jilly said, pointing at the rookie. “He was trying to save me.”
“How you doin’?” Guy asked the kid, scooting over to look at the leg. “I don’t think I got your name.”
“Lemon,” he said. “Winston Lemon. It ain’t fair but I didn’t get to choose. I only got a flesh wound, but you know how they like to bleed. I’ve got it under control.”
“I like your name,” Jilly said promptly. “Thank you for what you did.”
Lemon snorted. “I’ll probably get reprimanded for doin’ somethin’ wrong. But I’m glad I’m here, ma’am. How you doin’?”
“Better—except for the headache.”
Guy called for the medics, then went back to crouch beside Jilly. He took out a penlight and flashed it in her eyes. Quickly over the pupil, then away again.
“Take a better look at Winston’s leg,” Jilly said.
“I’m doin’ fine,” Winston said, and Jilly saw his smile in the darkness.
“So he’s Winston already?” Guy whispered. “Have a care, I’m a very jealous man.”
She leaned her head on his shoulder and tried to see his face. Best not mention the blows to her head with the flashlight or he’d cart her off to a hospital. “You were quick,” she told him.
“Mmm.” Guy brushed her wet and matted hair away from her face. “Want to explain why you left the Preston house?”
“I shouldn’t have left. I overreacted. What I’ve got to do now is get myself back there as quickly as I can, with some excuse they’ll have to believe even if it sounds fake.”
Guy’s face turned stony. “Why would I let you do a damn fool thing like that?”
“First, because I think Preston had something to do with the man who went after that woman. If the man gets away he will report back to Preston that he was interrupted by someone. Preston shouldn’t think it could have been me if I go back to the house and don’t mention it. He thinks I trust him, so why wouldn’t I tell him all about something like that?
“Second, I know how you feel about Edith, but she’s sick and pathetic and my conscience says I ought to make sure I don’t get cut off from her.”
Standing on the front steps at the Prestons’, Jilly knew she was a lucky woman to have persuaded Guy to let her come. She probably wouldn’t have if Nat hadn’t pointed out the good sense in what she said, in her reasons for insisting on returning.
Guy and Nat hung around outside the tall laurel hedge, and she’d been warned by he-who-would-be-obeyed that if she didn’t get a call to him within half an hour, he’d be coming in after her. The horrible man had got away, leaving the officers in sullen moods. But Jilly was glad Guy and Nat were right behind her. She needed to do this, but might not have had the guts on her own.
She rang the bell. Lights shot on inside so quickly someone had to have been up and walking about.
The door opened and there stood Laura Preston in a short black evening dress that showed more than it covered. “Jilly?” she whispered. “Oh, Jilly, where have you been? I went to your room to see if you were awake and you’d gone. I didn’t know what I was going to tell them. Get in here and go to bed before someone else misses you.”
Chilled and shaking, wet to the skin, Jilly stepped through the door and stood on a mat inside. “I’m dripping. I’d better blot myself off before I go upstairs.”
“Where have you been?” Laura asked urgently. “I don’t understand you.”
“I’m a pretty open book. How about you? What are you doing here?”
“Wes and I went to a gallery opening in the Quarter. We went straight from Toussaint and just got back here. You didn’t tell me where you’ve been.”
“Out,” Jilly said, turning her mouth down. “I’m a private person and I need my space. I had to walk on my own. Thank you for caring.”
A thin shriek came from upstairs and Laura closed her eyes. “Damn it all, Jilly. That’s Edith. You can bet your boots she’s found out you’re not in your room.”
“I can’t deal with this,” Jilly said. “I’m not used to having every move I make watched.” And the electric tension in the house messed with her resolve.
Laura went pink. “The Prestons are a tight-knit family. They don’t like not knowing where to find one of us.”
“What’s going on down there?” Preston’s voice boomed from the second floor. “Get back to bed, Edith. And stop whimperin’.”
“I will not, Daddy,” Edith said in a quavering voice. “I want my Jilly. Where is she? You frightened her away, didn’t you?”
Laura put her hands over her ears.
“Hush,” Jilly said. “It’ll be okay. Mr. Preston. Edith. It’s me, Jilly, and I know I’m a terrible nuisance. I’m fine, just fine, and I’m going back to bed right now.” Sh
e was anything but fine. Even “terrified” wasn’t that close.
“In the sitting room, all of you,” Preston ordered, hurrying downstairs in a silk paisley robe. He glared at Laura and cast a disgusted glance back at Edith, who followed him slowly.
“Wes has to stay out of these things,” Laura said in Jilly’s ear. “He loses his temper and it’s dreadful. The three of us will talk when this is over.”
Preston walked into the sitting room, but Edith came to Jilly and took her by the hand. She smiled softly at her, and at Laura. “Good girls. Sweet girls. We’ll be just fine.”
“Look at you,” Preston said the moment Jilly went into the room. “Explain yourself. As a member of this family there are standards we expect of you. You went out to meet someone, didn’t you? Was it that gas jockey?”
Gas jockey? He meant Guy and the fact that he worked for Homer part-time. “I went out for a walk but I got a bit lost and wandered where I probably shouldn’t have gone. It’s raining and I managed to fall on some mud and bang myself up.”
“Sit here,” Edith said, patting the back of her own chaise.
“I need a shower,” Jilly said. “I’m filthy.”
“Not good enough,” Preston said. “A young woman doesn’t just go wanderin’ around in the middle of the night. Not here.”
If she was right about the woman, and the man who chased her, how long would it be before Preston found out what had happened? “I get claustrophobia. I never know when it’s going to hit but it did tonight, probably because I was in new surroundings, and I went out. That’s what I always do.” A hired bully wouldn’t want to admit he’d been tripped up by a woman, would he? Jilly’s anxiety eased a little.
“Poor, dear girl,” Edith said.
Time was moving along. If she didn’t get upstairs on her own and make that call, her “gas jockey” would be bursting into the house. “Please. Everyone go back to bed. I’m going to get ready for bed myself and see if I can calm down. I am so sorry for upsettin’ everyone.” She looked at Preston, who looked back with hard eyes. The identity of the woman she’d helped wasn’t a guess anymore. Jilly couldn’t shake the conviction that the same woman had got out of Preston’s car beside the house and that he’d sent the man after her.
“Run along, baby,” Edith said. “I’ll make sure you get some hot milk with somethin’ in it to make you sleep. I’ll have it left outside your door, so don’t you worry about bein’ interrupted. Come along, Daddy. Good night, Jilly, and you, Laura.”
“That son of mine too drunk to put in an appearance?” Preston snapped.
“Wes works too hard,” Laura said. “He’s so tired he just passed out on the bed the minute we got home.”
Edith steered Preston upstairs; Laura also went up but turned left toward another wing. Jilly went straight to her room, locked the door and immediately called Guy. “Jilly here,” she said in a low voice. “It’s okay. I’m in my room.” She listened to Guy. “Don’t worry, I’m too scared not to be careful. I need to take a shower, I’m a mess.” She smiled. “Thank you. I’m glad someone likes me no matter how I look. I’d better go. I’ll get in touch in the mornin’. I’ll be away first thing.”
Guy hadn’t finished. “I want you to take that Hummer with you, got it? You do nothin’ to make waves with those people.”
“I won’t, but they aren’t going to do anything to me.” Later she would have to tell Guy what she’d seen when Preston got home.
“You don’t know that. What happened to make you run out of there?”
Oh, no, she wasn’t going into that tonight. “It had more to do with some hang-ups of mine than anything,” she told him. “When we can get together, I’ll explain it to you. Remember, Preston will figure there are plenty of people who know I came here. He’ll be cautious. I’m safe. Bye, Guy.”
“You mean a lot to me, ma’am.”
Her heart thudded all over again. “Thank you. The feelin’s mutual.”
“The house will be watched. Don’t argue, it’s happenin’. If the situation changes, call back. I’ll be waiting.”
“Thank you.” She hung up and held the phone against her chest. What did he really mean when he said she meant a lot to him?
She threw her small duffel on the puffy bed and found her toiletries and a pair of pajamas. Life used to be so uncomplicated—or it had been occasionally.
One good feeling she had was that the woman in the cemetery had gotten away.
In the bathroom, she started the shower and remembered to turn on the fan. Then she locked the door and stripped off her clothes. Wet mud had found its way to her skin in places where she couldn’t figure how it got there.
The shower sloped and needed no doors. She felt euphoric when hot water beat down on her. She lathered her hair and washed her body again and again. Only one thing was missing, one thing to make this a perfect shower—Guy. She touched her aching breasts and shuddered.
Once she was dry, she went through the tedious process of combing and brushing her hair before putting on her silk pajamas. She thought of Preston settling a hand—so sneakily—on her body and grimaced. She wasn’t one of his “other women,” and she never would be. The idea disgusted her. But more unnerving was the idea that the man had shown he could be violent.
She hurried between the sheets and attempted to relax, only to have the door open quietly, the door she thought she had locked. Swallowing a scream, she grabbed the cell phone from beneath her pillow.
“It’s only us,” Laura whispered, and waved Wes into the room behind her.
Jilly pulled the covers up to her chin and held on to them while she sat up. Wes turned on a light by her bed and Laura carried a mug of milk, which she gave to Jilly. The smell of liquor tickled her nose.
“I locked that door,” Jilly said.
“It opened right up,” Laura said, looking at Wes, who shrugged. Dressed in a tuxedo minus the jacket and with his black tie hanging loose, he was something to look at. “You have to listen to us,” Laura said. “It’s for your own good.”
“Let’s get to it,” Wes said. He looked at Laura with the kind of possessiveness Jilly didn’t find healthy. “Edith needs you around, Jilly.”
“I intend to be around,” she told him.
“But there are precautions you have to take,” Laura said rapidly. “Aren’t there, Wes? Like—”
“Like accepting the truth. My father has a weakness for women. A certain kind of woman.”
Anger stiffened Jilly’s spine. “What kind of woman would that be?”
“Weak ones. Malleable ones. Sexy ones. He has the kind of appetite that means one woman could never keep him satisfied.”
A slight move made Jilly look at Laura, but the woman, still in her beautiful, beaded black dress, had made her face stony. Jilly wondered if Laura had been subjected to Mr. Preston’s advances.
“Yep,” Wes said. He followed the direction of Jilly’s glance. “If you’re thinking my daddy knows every inch of my dear wife, you’re right.”
Jilly gasped and Laura looked defiant.
“He’s the one with the money,” Wes said, crossing his arms. His narrowed eyes were on Jilly. “He calls the shots. Did you take a shower?”
Everything he said disturbed her. “Yes, why?”
“Give her somethin’ to put on,” Wes said.
Laura took a sheer black robe from a closet and held it out for Jilly, who slipped it on.
“Come with me. Don’t turn the bathroom lights on.”
“Don’t, Wes,” Laura said. “Why do that?”
“Because our little friend needs to know what she’s up against. And she needs to know we’re her friends and we’ll look out for her interests.” Wes turned off the light beside the bed, found Jilly’s hand and led her to the bathroom, where he let her in and closed the door behind them.
Jilly sweated. She could hardly take a breath. When she tried to free her hand, Wes held it even tighter and pulled her forward. She could see the s
heen on the mirrors and smell the expensive shampoo and soap she’d used.
Wes took her to the center of the wall opposite the shower, the wall where two mirrors were separated by the portrait of a woman. He took her right hand to the picture and pressed the tip of her index finger to the painted woman’s eye.
Jilly jerked away, then pulled herself up to sit on the counter. She put her face against the mirror and gradually got closer to the portrait. Then she applied her finger to the eye again and felt a smooth, very slightly convex surface.
Before Wes could stop her, she knelt and put her own eye to what was clearly glass and tried to see beyond. There was only darkness.
She jumped down and hurried back to the bedroom, where Laura snapped on the light the moment Wes returned from the bathroom.
“It’s a peephole,” Jilly said, hugging herself.
“In a way,” Wes said. “There’s a lens in there. It gives Daddy a complete view of the bathroom. Doesn’t have to miss a thing. Apparently you went out earlier without getting ready for bed. He must have thought he was in heaven when he got a second chance to watch you.”
Jilly grabbed up her duffel, but Wes took it from her and put it back on the floor. “Get some sleep. You’ll be okay—Laura and I will make sure of that. Just make sure you never stay under the same roof as my father again.”
“Don’t touch me,” Laura said, putting distance between them.
Wes closed the door to their sitting room. “Shut up. Keep your voice down. All I want from you is cooperation.”
“I’ve cooperated. I’ve done everything I can.”
“Except get rid of her back at the beginning when it would have been easy,” Wes said. “If you’d done as you were told you could have paid her almost nothing to get lost. Now she knows there could be a lot in it for her if she sticks around.”
“Let it go,” Laura said. “I told you it was impossible to broach with her. End of story.”
Wes walked past her. “No, it isn’t. But we can manage her. Daddy’s bad habits scared her. Unlike some, she isn’t going to buy her way into his pockets with sex.”
Laura smiled. Why argue? What he suggested about her was true, or it had been until lately. “What are you thinking of doing?”
A Grave Mistake Page 19