A Grave Mistake

by Stella Cameron

  Tomorrow his first priority was to get together, alone, with Nat and Guy and make sure there wasn’t something else crucial they’d forgotten to tell him. That and insist on the coroner’s report on Rathburn—and anything forensics might have forthcoming.

  He turned away from the big house—now a resort—at Rosebank and stared into the darkness. Vivian and her mother, Charlotte, avoided as many changes to the estate as they could. Banks of white roses, even more lush now than when the women had first taken up residence, continued to billow along every fence and wall, and the great oak-lined driveway still hadn’t been lit, despite his repeated suggestions that it ought to be. Guests had a way of wandering out for late-night walks, but Vivian said it was more romantic without lights interfering with people’s privacy. He smiled a little at that.

  A breath took in the scent of roses and the vanilla of night-scented clematis. He approached the H-shaped building that had become so popular with tourists. This wasn’t the busiest time of the year but there were still a goodly number of guests. The family had their own wing, one floor of which was for long-stay boarders. Madge, Wazoo and the Savage brothers, Andre and Roche, fell into that category.

  Andre and Roche were an enigmatic pair, pleasant enough in an assessing way. They had mentioned a business venture in the area but had given no information on what kind of venture, but Vivian and Charlotte liked them, and Spike guessed they were okay.

  He was one edgy man tonight. Lee O’Brien, together with a Simon Menard, her new business partner evidently, had hung around the station all afternoon, questioning anyone who moved. He had avoided them, but that wouldn’t last and Lee needed regular reminders about protocol, even if she ignored them.

  To his right, most of the windows in the hotel were illuminated and he faintly heard music from the bar. A competent staff made it easy for Vivian and Charlotte to manage without spending twenty-four hours on the job.

  On the left, where the Devols and Charlotte lived—and the long-stay boarders—most windows were dark. He looked up at the third floor and the bedroom he shared with Vivian. That was dark, too.

  He stepped lightly. No point in waking anyone, even if it would be good to talk and know whatever he said wouldn’t be judged.

  Inside the great hall—renovated lovingly to keep the eclectic motif Vivian’s uncle had favored before he died and left the estate to his sister-in-law and niece—Spike stood with his hat in his hands. Was he hungry? Did he want to go to the kitchens and eat? Truth was, he didn’t know what he felt or what he wanted anymore—other than to wring a few necks around Toussaint.

  Yes, he did know what he wanted. He spread a hand over his face. Vivian was who he wanted. She could quiet his heart and mind as no other person had ever managed to do. Please, God, let him take the right steps at the right speed.

  “Spike?”

  He jumped, peered and saw Charlotte’s small figure in the gloomy passage leading to the kitchen. “I thought everyone was in bed,” he said softly. Vivian’s tiny Chihuahua, Boa, shot from behind Charlotte and vaulted into his arms. He’d come to like the miniature critter. Probably because Vivian loved her—and because she was fiercely protective of the family.

  “Come on,” Charlotte said, inclining her head toward the kitchens. “I’ve been waiting up for you.”

  Dandy, just what I need: a chat with my mother-in-law. That wasn’t fair when she was more a mother to him than he’d ever known. He followed her and entered the big kitchens, which had been part of the working hub of the estate. The kitchens had been completely renovated for the resort.

  Small with close-cropped gray hair and big eyes in a smooth face, Charlotte stood close, looking up at him and, he thought, seeing too much.

  “You’re mad,” she said.

  Dammit, can anyone look at me and know what I’m thinking? If they could he’d better work on it because it was a lousy trait in a lawman. “I’m just fine, Charlotte, thank you.”

  She pulled up her shoulders. “If you say so.”

  At first Charlotte and Homer had seemed unlikely friends, but Spike understood how they found strength in each other. He also figured his father felt protective toward Charlotte; among other things a son would rather not think about where a parent was concerned.

  “You don’t want to talk to me, do you, Spike?”

  He wasn’t getting away with a thing here. “I’m a bit tired.”

  “You’ve had a bad day—one of a lot of bad days.”

  Spike looked at his shoes. “Charlotte, sometimes you see too much.”

  “You’re the best thing that ever happened to my daughter, that makes you important to me. So I guess I’m kind of in touch a bit more than I might be. Don’t worry about anything. That’s all I wanted to tell you.”

  He blew up his cheeks and took a slow stroll to the butcher-block-topped island in the middle of the room. “Want to tell me what anythin’ is?”

  “Surely. Homer got a bit bent out of shape is all. Could have happened to any of us. He’ll calm down and forget he was ever mad.”

  Spike had already decided that was true. “I think so, too.”

  “Thought so. That Lee O’Brien is a very nice young woman. She didn’t mean anythin’ bad by writin’ what she did. It’s just that Homer decided she’d written about us and took it in his pride a bit.”

  “Like you say, he’ll get over it. I think I’m finally tired.”

  “Spike.” She settled a hand on his crossed arms. “The other… You and Vivian are so much in love, it hurts to watch—”

  “Please, Charlotte,” he said, and dropped a peck on her cheek. “You’re wonderful but let us try to come through this on our own.”

  “Yes, of course.” She stepped away from him.

  “I’m sorry. It’s been too long since Vivian and I relaxed together. I think it’s my fault. Until we get it all in the open we can’t put it to rest. She’s tryin’ to save my feelings.”

  “And you’re tryin’ to save hers,” Charlotte said. “So quit bein’ so considerate, both of you.” She walked out.

  Spike stood there until he was sure she’d gone to her rooms—and he used the interval to consider what he was supposed to do to take the stress out of his marriage. Rage welled in him. What he and Vivian had was too special to be ruined.

  Why had their baby died before he took his first breath?

  And why did he keep asking himself a question when there wasn’t any answer?

  Carrying Boa, he left the kitchen, went through the passageway past the salon and upstairs, up the flights that took him to what had become his home with Vivian and Wendy. His girl adored Vivian, but then, Wendy had good taste, too. The dog was happy to be popped inside the little girl’s room.

  The door to the bedroom he shared with Vivian was closed tight. He turned the handle carefully and let himself in. Vivian hadn’t closed the drapes and the light from a cloud-shrouded moon showed his wife’s shape in the bed. She faced the window.

  Spike bowed his head. He felt so helpless, even while his mind told him this was the one human being in the world who was always on his side.

  “What’s the matter?”

  Startled, he took a second to say, “Hey. I thought you were sleeping.”

  “I haven’t been sleeping too well lately.”

  Spike swallowed, swallowed again, but his mouth stayed dry. “Me, neither.”

  “Something happen today?”

  “How do you read me like that?” he asked. He didn’t add that her mother seemed to have pretty good instincts where his feelings were concerned, too.

  “Practice,” she said. “I spend a lot of time thinking about you.”

  His gut tightened. “I think about you, too.”

  “So what’s happened?”

  “I’m mad as hell, that’s what.” He told her about Guy and Nat, Cyrus and Jilly talking all around him about his case while he sat there like a fool not knowing what they meant most of the time. He explained the matchbook, th
en apologized. “I’m sorry, Vivian. I make a point of not bringin’ my work home. It’s always best that way.”

  She was quiet again and he undid the buttons on his uniform shirt, pulled it free of his pants and shucked it. “I bet they thought they’d told you, Spike. These cases with more than one agency involved can get confusing, can’t they?”

  Vivian had a clear head, almost always. He smiled to himself. “They can and you’re probably right.” He mentioned the Pratts, Lee O’Brien and Simon Menard.

  “Ah, cher, my poor sweetheart. You’re getting overrun. Do you think this Menard is a romantic interest of Lee’s?”

  He had sat down to pull off his boots, but he put one foot back on the floor. “Didn’t look that way to me.” He finished taking off the boots, then followed them with his pants.

  “Wazoo has seen Amy Girard,” Vivian said. “Apparently it didn’t go well. Wazoo drove out to Clouds End and Amy seemed afraid when she saw her. I told Wazoo Amy’s probably still shell-shocked. She came close to being killed.”

  Spike snorted. “Did you remind Wazoo that while Amy was locked up in that bayou house people managed to think she’d already been buried? That was the reason for the memorial or whatever it was. So if Wazoo sang for it, Amy isn’t to blame.”

  “Wazoo knows that but she expected Amy to welcome her, I think. She’s hurt.”

  “She’ll get over it,” Spike said. “She and Amy will get things back together again.”

  He stripped the rest of the way and, when he was naked, fumbled in a drawer for a pair of pajamas. He hated the things but circumstances made them appropriate.

  “Don’t put those on,” Vivian said, and he stood still. “You don’t like wearing pajamas, you never did.”

  “No.”

  “You started wearing them after we lost the baby.”

  He scrubbed at his face and ran his fingers through his hair.

  “I don’t like you in pajamas, either. Come to bed, Spike.”

  He glanced down at himself, at his nakedness, and at his erection. He’d have to be careful not to let her be aware that he was aroused.

  Moving quickly, he started for his side of the bed.

  “This side,” Vivian said, scooting backward and opening the covers for him. “I warmed the bed up for you.”

  He trembled, actually trembled. She was reaching out to him and he was too damn scared to reach back. But he did as she asked and got into bed, his back toward her and his knees bent.

  “There’s nothing that means as much to me as being with you,” Vivian said. With her warm hands, she smoothed his back and shoulders, his arms, his sides…and she placed dozens of light kisses where her hands had been. “There’s just one thing I want you to tell me while I make a fool of myself. Have you fallen out of love with me completely?” She tucked her thighs against the back of his.

  “No! I love you more with every hour. I love you so much I’m fallin’ apart with what’s happenin’ to us.” He tried to turn toward her but she was faster. Wrapping her arms all the way around him, she flattened herself to his back.

  Vivian was also naked. “It’s been too long since we spooned.” She laughed shortly, a husky edge in her voice. “When I hold you like this I feel as if we’ve melted together.”

  He arched his head back until his cheek rested on hers. “I don’t know what to do,” he murmured. “I can’t bear to see you hurt again, like you were. It feels like a no-win. If what the doctor said is true and we might not start another pregnancy… We could, though, she said it was possible. But what if…”

  Vivian placed her fingers over his mouth. “We don’t get to make the decisions about any of it. All we can do is live our lives and take what comes. We’ve got Wendy and I couldn’t love her any more.”

  “I know and I’m grateful,” he said, closing his eyes and concentrating on the way her breasts felt against his back.

  “If we get pregnant again, it’ll be wonderful. If we don’t, I will never love you less, Spike. But you know somethin’?”

  He held his breath. “What?”

  “Turn over and look at me.”

  His control wouldn’t hold out much longer but he did as she asked. All he saw in the gloom was shadows beneath the sharp bones in her face, the faint sheen in her eyes and, when he looked lower, her breasts bathed in a hint of light.

  “I’m looking at you, Vivian. You didn’t get ugly or undesirable and… I want you so much.”

  “What’s taking you so long?”

  24

  From a distance, Vivian heard tapping. She rearranged herself more comfortably on Spike’s chest, kissed him there sleepily and relaxed again.

  Once more a tapping.

  “Go away!” Spike called out so loudly that Vivian jumped. “And don’t come back.” He tightened his arms around Vivian.

  More tapping. “Vivian, Spike,” Charlotte called, clearly miserable. “You’ve got company.”

  Spike’s eyes opened at once, but he felt no inclination to leave the place where he’d prefer to stay for good. He craned his neck to look at the clock. “Company at seven?”

  “Who would come so early?” Vivian muttered. She wasn’t sure she could move, anyway.

  “I’ll make them comfortable,” Charlotte said. “You come when you’re ready.”

  They heard her footsteps recede.

  “Should have asked who it is,” Vivian said.

  Spike grunted, stroking her back and burying his face in her hair.

  “We’d better go down. Wendy will be up anytime, too.”

  “You’re right.” Spike scooted to sit up and plunked Vivian down beside him. “I feel like a new man.”

  She giggled. “I’m feelin’ pretty good myself.” And so lighthearted. “Didn’t you say the Pratts were going to see you this morning?”

  “I didn’t invite them to come to my home and wake me up.” He thought for a moment. “They are so literal, they may have assumed that’s what I meant though.” The growling sound he made amused Vivian.

  After that they showered and dressed and went downstairs. Soft voices came from the small sitting room to the left at the bottom of the stairs. This room sported a new, exact replica of the original striped, tentlike ceiling hangings. The disappearing corners that gave a clever impression of the room being round continued to fascinate Spike.

  When he followed Vivian into the room, Ken and Jolene Pratt got up at once. Their faces were as shiny and scrubbed as usual, but today Jolene didn’t wear a tail at her nape to match Ken’s. Instead her straight light brown hair spread around her shoulders and she wore a floral dress. She actually looked quite attractive.

  “Good morning,” they said in unison. “We’re sorry if we got you up. We didn’t think about that.”

  I wish you had thought about it. “The sooner we deal with your issues, the better. I wanted to get to you yesterday,” Spike said.

  “You had a busy day,” Jolene said. She looked at Vivian. “You’re beautiful. I’ve seen you before, but not so close.”

  Vivian, her face pink, said, “Thank you.”

  She was beautiful, Spike thought. Her shiny, straight black hair curved around her jaw and she had the greenest eyes he ever hoped to see. “You’re right,” he told Jolene. “My wife is beautiful—and a saint to put up with me.”

  Ken laughed and put an arm around Jolene’s shoulders.

  She turned her head toward him and said, “I’ll start, if you like.”

  He said, “No, it’s my job,” and Spike guessed the niceties were over.

  “Please be comfortable,” Vivian said. “I’ll get you some coffee—if that’s okay, Spike?”

  “I’d like you to stay,” Jolene said quickly. “You make me feel more relaxed.”

  They all sat and before they could get started Charlotte appeared with mugs of coffee on a tray and a plate of fresh, deep-fried pig’s ear cakes coated in thick cane syrup and chopped nuts. The pastries were fragrant and still hot.

 
; Spike hadn’t been hungry but he was only human and had one of the twists on a plate and in front of him before he even reached for coffee.

  Charlotte left at once and Ken Pratt, chewing his first bite, said, “Your mama’s quite a cook,” to Vivian. She agreed, with a sense that the Pratts were grabbing at reasons to delay whatever they’d come to say—a need she’d felt herself before now.

  “You’re going to hear it all, anyway,” Jolene blurted out. “Lee O’Brien will nose it out and make something of it—we think she may already know—so we want you to hear it from us.”

  “You talk, I’ll listen,” Spike said. They had a firm hold on his curiosity.

  Vivian touched his arm. “I probably shouldn’t be here.”

  He smiled at her. “If Jolene and Ken want you, it’s fine.” She knew better than to say anything during whatever was to come.

  “We’ve been in Toussaint longer than people know,” Ken said. “Maybe nobody but us knows when we got here.”

  Spike held back a frown and kept a smile on his face.

  “We like people in Toussaint now—since we moved onto St. Cécil land—but we didn’t know how much until, well, until things changed.”

  His tongue was going to be frayed, but Spike didn’t want to prompt them.

  Ken’s twist lay on his plate. He’d eaten just that one bite. “We came almost two years ago,” he said. “Looking for a safe place to be and a way to keep to ourselves. We arrived at night and we moved about at night. We had to.”

  “We’d had a business,” Jolene said. “A bookstore and café.”

  “Like Hungry Eyes,” Ken put in. “Except we also made natural remedies and sold organic vegetables at a local market. It wasn’t in a good area and we had problems. The kind of people we wanted to attract came at first but they got hassled and they got fed up. In the end we had to close our doors.”

  “That’s a shame,” Vivian said. She hunched her shoulders. “Sorry.”

  Ken and Jolene stopped talking. They looked at each other, then at the floor.

  “You’ll find out, anyway,” Jolene said quietly.