A Grave Mistake

by Stella Cameron

  “They might if they’d looked at the car.” Lee’s blue eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. “It was way out back. Do you see any reason why I shouldn’t tell Lavinia to kind of think about why a body shop might not bother to check out a customer’s car? She wouldn’t use Mortie’s name, of course.”

  “Don’t,” Guy said and heard Simon and Jilly echo him. “You’ve told me about it and I’ll mention what you’ve said to Spike. I’m askin’ you not to splash this theory in the Trumpet. ”

  “Okay, I won’t.”

  So why didn’t she sound disappointed? Guy thought. And why hadn’t the body shop gotten to Jilly’s car yet? He considered Lee’s meddling just that, meddling, but there was no avoiding the fact that Mortie’s ought to have given a report by now.

  “The Pratts have been in the graveyard again,” Lee said.

  “You already wrote your innuendo on that one,” Jilly said promptly. “They’re honest people, I’m convinced of it. Why not leave them alone?”

  “It’s Lavinia who writes the innuendos,” Lee said. “It’s not a good idea for them to be wandering around there at night. You never know what kind of crazy could decide to follow them.”

  Guy muttered, “Isn’t that the truth?” but if Lee heard him, she didn’t react.

  “Lee,” Simon said. “Let’s get in and have that coffee—if we’re still welcome.” He glanced from Guy to Jilly.

  “You’re always welcome,” she told him.

  “But you wouldn’t have a problem if Lavinia brought up the Pratts’ graveyard shifts again?” Lee said.

  “Yes, I would,” Guy said. “But we both know you can print what you like. You can also get sued.”

  27

  “I don’t see how you can leave All Tarted Up to the likes of Doll Hibbs,” Guy said, grudgingly making conversation after an hour of deliberately keeping his mouth shut.

  They had left Toussaint for New Orleans because Guy didn’t figure he could wait any longer to visit Zinnia Sedge. By the time he got to the Quarter, Nat was likely to be waiting.

  “Doll has Wazoo supervising—and Vivian checking in,” Jilly said. “We’re covering my place and Ellie’s very well, thanks. The Majestic may not be the Ritz but Doll and Gator have made a living there and it’s hard to make a go of a twelve-room hotel in a place like Toussaint. It’s not like having Rosebank where people go just to be at the place. Doll and Gator live from day to day on whoever shows up.”

  “Okay,” Guy said. “You’re right.”

  “And I don’t see how you can leave Toussaint when you promised Homer you’d go back there and get some work done.” Jilly had Goldilocks on her lap and it was a wonder the woman could breathe.

  Wishing again he could have persuaded Jilly out of going to New Orleans with him, Guy ignored the comment, snatched up his cell phone and dialed Homer’s number. After so many rings he almost hung up, then he heard Homer’s voice saying a gruff “Yeah?”

  “It’s Guy. Can I take you into my confidence?” The man hardly talked at all and he certainly didn’t gossip. “I know I can.”

  “If you want to. When you comin’ in?”

  “That’s part of why I’m callin’. Looks like we may be makin’ progress with that Parish Lane killin’.”

  “You mean at Jilly’s place. Why not say so?”

  “You’re right. I need to go into New Orleans to meet up with my old partner. You talked to him. Nat Archer.”

  “The one Wazoo keeps yakkin’ on about,” Homer said. “Sure I talked to him.”

  Guy’s feelings about Wazoo might not be too logical, but he didn’t want Nat getting tangled up with her. Inspiration hit. “I’m steppin’ in it with both the Devol men.” He forced a chuckle. “Spike expects me in his office, you expect me at work. I want to be both places but I’ve got to do this, Homer. Can you understand that?”

  Long pause. “I can understand wantin’ to do what you can to keep people safe. Can’t fault you for that. Could fault you if you break Jilly’s heart, though.”

  Guy looked steadfastly ahead at the highway. What the critics didn’t think about was that in the end Jilly might decide she didn’t want him—if he messed up enough. “I don’t intend to do that. Would you track Spike down and tell him where I’m goin’? Tell him I’ve got to get back tonight and I’ll be in touch then. Cyrus knows what’s up so he could talk to him about the details if he likes.”

  Homer agreed to take care of things and seemed pleased to become Guy’s confidant.

  When he switched off, he felt Jilly looking at him. He didn’t turn his head but he reached out to pat her hand, missed because Goldilocks was in the way, and patted Jilly’s leg instead. The dog—who got thicker by the day—licked Guy’s fingers. “Everythin’s on the up-and-up with Homer. I need to work on includin’ the people I trust a bit more. That way they won’t think I’m deliberately keepin’ them in the dark.”

  She covered his hand on her thigh. “There’s hope for you. I think you’re learnin’. It wasn’t so hard to let me come with you after all, was it?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I didn’t want you here. Still don’t. If somethin’ turns nasty I don’t need someone who can’t look after herself.”

  Crossing her arms, Jilly rested her head back. He glanced at her again and felt irritable that she didn’t appear upset by the put-down. His lady was too clever for her own good. She knew how to ring his chimes.

  His lady?

  Was she?

  He guessed so. When this case was finished, one way or the other, he’d have to decide what he intended to do with the rest of his life, including whether he wanted to ask Jilly to share it with him.

  The same old answer took him by the gut. He didn’t like the idea of not having her around.

  “I’ve been thinkin’ about your Beetle,” he said. “I’ll make sure it gets a thorough going-over but I’m thinkin’ Lee’s imagination got away from her. Even with her printout from the computer, what does she know about cars? For all we know she wasn’t even looking at the brakes.”

  “You’re probably right. But they were a bit mushy.”

  “That could have been coming on slowly.”

  Jilly nodded. “I’m sure it had been. I’m bad about taking care of necessities.”

  His hand still rested on her thigh, on top of that sexy green silk that wouldn’t look so appealing if her skin weren’t coffee-gold and sleek. Inch by inch he slid the skirt higher.

  She didn’t make a move to stop him.

  His little finger came to rest on another piece of silk and he felt her heat through her panties.

  “Is this a good time to be foolin’ around?” Jilly said. She liked every moment of feeling him touch her, but there was always a time and place. A small smile settled in. So far they hadn’t always been particularly appropriate in this area.

  “You want to fool around?” he asked.

  He said something like that and might as well have punched her diaphragm. The air didn’t want to go into her lungs.

  “Jilly?” He met her eyes and the question was very serious. “I think I need to hold you. You give me strength.”

  “Minutes ago you told me you didn’t want me with you. And you’re as tough as tacks—you don’t need me to make you stronger.”

  “There’s more than one kind of strength. One feeds off the other. Could I hold you?”

  “You’re drivin’.” She felt disoriented.

  Guy searched the road ahead, saw what he was looking for and drove onto a gravel strip. A track led through trees then petered out. Several heaps of gravel dotted a turn-around. He drove between two gravel stacks and farther into the trees. When he stopped and turned off the engine, Jilly looked back and realized they’d driven downhill. She couldn’t see the gravel anymore.

  They sat there, staring ahead.

  Goldilocks licked Jilly’s face.

  “Over you go,” Guy told the dog, and helped her carefully into the backseat where he rumpled up a blanket on top of Gold
ilocks’s foam bed so the dog had her favorite thing—a nest. “Now, go to sleep,” he said.

  “I thought you were in a hurry,” Jilly said. He confounded her again and again.

  “Time’s tight, but not so tight I shouldn’t spend some of it on something that’s really important to me.”

  Men needed sex, not that women didn’t. But she believed he would be able to move on if the mood took him. Move on and leave her behind. She didn’t want to be a convenience, surely not in this way.

  “Is this too calculated for you?” he asked, putting his hand on the keys. “It is. I’m sorry, Jilly, it’s just that I need you—in a lot of ways.”

  “You can turn your feelings on and off,” she told him. “You put the case in one compartment and your needs in another. And when the needs get strong you open the appropriate compartment.”

  He turned toward her so abruptly, she flinched. “It’s not like that,” he said, his mouth a straight line. “I’m not going to debate the nature of the male, but I’ve got feelings other than the animal ones. By the way, there’s nothin’ wrong with animal feelings, they’re damn good. I—”

  Jilly took his face in her hands, pulled him to her and kissed his lips so hard she made her neck ache. When she took a breath, he didn’t say anything, just waited for her to continue.

  She continued.

  Kissing him again, she undid his shirt and slipped her hands inside to rake through the hair on his chest. He shuddered and she teased him more. The top of her dress was a backless halter, belted and with a crossover front. Guy’s hands heated the bare skin on her back and he held her tighter as he forgot to let her take the lead. Gradually he returned her kisses with enough pressure to lean her backward.

  Cradling the back of her neck in one large hand, Guy studied her. His every touch made her tremble and he had aroused her until she felt blood pulsing beneath her skin.

  Guy kissed her neck, the dips behind her collarbones, the skin exposed by the deep neckline of her dress. She spread his shirt wider and nuzzled his slightly salty skin. He jumped at each touch.

  For a moment he held her upper arms and stared at her chest.

  “What?” she said, wriggling to sit up.

  She didn’t think he noticed her struggle. He just held her right where she was.

  “Guy! Why are you staring at me like that?”

  “There’s no back on your dress.”

  “No.”

  A lazy grin spread on his face. “You’re not wearing a bra. Just silk to cover the good bits.”

  “Good bits?” She giggled. “You say the strangest things.”

  “Well, you’re not, are you?”

  “No—well, more or less no.”

  That earned her a quick kiss on the nose before he parted the front of her dress. He took a deep breath and, she thought, turned a little pale. The idea made her feel powerful although she was a tiny bit uncomfortable knowing what he was really looking at.

  “You have beautiful breasts.”

  Now she was embarrassed. “Thank you. Your body turns me on whenever I’m near you. And when I’m not near you but I think about it.”

  His grin let her know he enjoyed the sexy compliments. He feathered his fingers over her breasts. “Why use these things?” He ran a fingernail back and forth on the peach-colored silk pasties she wore over her nipples.

  Ignoring the sensation his fingernail produced was impossible but she still blushed. “They’re only because I’m not wearing a bra.”

  “They’re a turn-on. Where are the tassels?”

  “Don’t,” she whispered. “I’m embarrassed.”

  “You’re sexy—naturally sexy.” Carefully, he peeled off first one pastie, then the other. After a long-enough perusal to make her squirm, he used the tip of his tongue to make circles around her nipples before taking one in his mouth and sucking, nipping, until she arched up toward him.

  “Okay,” she managed to say. “We held each other. We kissed. We connected, but we’d better get on the road.”

  “You’re kidding,” he said, his eyelids heavy and half lowered. “Help me get your panties off.”

  Jilly turned so hot she burned. “Not here.” But she slipped her hands beneath her skirt and got her thumbs under the elastic of the silk-and-lace thong. Supposedly helping, Guy took her bottom in his hands and got in her way.

  Laughing, she smacked him off and swallowed when he wrenched his belt undone and unzipped his jeans.

  She had barely taken one foot from her underwear when Guy picked her up by the waist and sat her, facing him, in his lap—with his penis deep inside her. For a moment he rocked her back and forth. Jilly held his shoulders and moaned. Her arms pushed her naked breasts together and she felt wanton and wonderful—and desperate.

  Guy held on to the cheeks of her bottom and began exercising his hips at a heart-bumping pace. “Oh” was all she managed to say before the top of her head hit the car roof and she bent over him, tucked her face into his neck. Their bare skin rubbed together, her aching nipples against the silky hair on his chest.

  Jilly heard a keening sound from her own throat, and an answering stream of meaningless words from Guy.

  Too soon she climaxed explosively and straightened her arms between them while ripples of intense sensation hit again and again. She felt his release, hot and wet, and didn’t want to let him come out of her.

  “Hold me,” he murmured, pulling her into his arms and hugging her so tight she felt he might crush her bones. “Jilly, we need each other. We fit…match.” He knew what he said and meant it. Let the damn chips fall wherever.

  Nat stood on the curb outside the building on St. Ann, just around the corner from Dauphine. He bounced on his heels, flapping his toes up and down over the gutter. He turned up his collar against a cool wind that whipped scattered raindrops down the narrow street, and checked his watch. A sweat turned cold on his skin and he felt sick. Guy should be here by now.

  A lot was coming down—fast. In the last two days he’d made some headway gathering information on the girl who was murdered after being seen at Jazz Babes. Her name had been Paula Hemp and she’d been whacked around the time when Detective Fleet had been up to his ears with the club. Unfortunately organization was Fleet’s weak point and so far Nat had turned up only a fraction of what should exist on the case.

  Nat contemplated his headache. He’d spent last night at the Sump Pump off Jackson Square, doing what he’d been trying not to do for a couple of years. He had drunk himself off a stool at the bar, then taken two packs of Jax and a bottle of rum home. He’d sunk himself into a stupor and started his day at ten in the morning with raw eggs in vinegar, his grandpappy’s “cure.” Only he still wasn’t over the thumping behind his eyes and at the back of his head and the “cure” had made him throw up. Maybe that was the idea.

  Where the fuck was Guy, dammit?

  When he could, Nat intended to spend some time with Wazoo in Toussaint. Maybe he’d bring her up here for a few days. If she’d come. She let him know she enjoyed being with him and she made him feel good like he hadn’t in too long. He needed someone around him, someone he liked.

  “At last,” he muttered. Guy’s Pontiac slowed at the corner before turning onto St. Ann’s. He pulled in so close to the curb he took Nat by surprise and he forgot to step back in time. His unceremonious fall to the concrete didn’t help his head, or his mood. “Goddammit!” he shouted, just in time for Jilly to be out of the car and offering him her hand.

  Sheepishly, Nat accepted the hand although he sprang to his feet under his own steam. “Sorry about the language,” he said. “I’m not having a good day and I’m feelin’ sorry for myself.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” she said.

  From the other side of the car Guy said, “Didn’t your mother tell you to stay back from the street?” and laughed.

  “I’m goin’ to fry your balls,” Nat said, glowering. “You drive like a friggin’ maniac.”

  “Love
you, too,” Guy said. He crossed his arms and stared at Nat. “You’ve got a headache,” he announced. “I can see it in your eyes.”

  “Great,” Nat said. “Now you’re psychic or somethin’.”

  “Long night?”

  “My nights are my own business,” he told Guy, but felt mad as hell at himself for the bender. “Let’s get to it. I waited for you so we wouldn’t be repeatin’ ourselves. Miz Trudy-Evangeline Augustine don’t have a lot of patience—or so Cyrus told me. Doesn’t sound like we can get to Miz Sedge without going through the caretaker.”

  Guy tangled his fingers in Jilly’s thick hair and looked down into her face with the kind of smile Nat recognized. Possessive. Nat liked to see it but worried Guy would do something to mess up a good thing—he had before.

  “Cher, it would be less confusin’ for the lady we need to see if you weren’t there. I know you understand.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “This is police business.”

  Nat winced at the official tone.

  “Ooh,” Jilly said. “I’m so impressed. And I’m not stayin’ out here worryin’ about what’s goin’ on in there. I’m good with people and women usually feel more comfortable with other women around. You’ve heard that, haven’t you, Nat?”

  He didn’t want to be in the middle, no sir. “I’m not sure.”

  “You’ll do what you want to, anyway,” Guy said with a wry grin, and he led the way through the black iron gates. The fountain bubbled away and despite the overcast day, the flowers in the courtyard were brilliant.

  “Trudy-Evangeline told Cyrus that Zinnia had come back,” Guy commented. “Let’s hope she hasn’t left again.” Immediately he saw the Vespa and felt relieved.

  He met Nat’s eyes and they silently acknowledged seeing the scooter.

  Nat worried Guy. The man looked hellish. His clothes had obviously been slept in and today he wore an old brown fedora—its brim turned up all around—jammed straight down on his head and touching his eyebrows. The skin on his face shone and Guy reckoned Nat must be clammy about now. The wild drinking bouts used to be routine until he’d lost his brother in a traffic accident involving booze. That stopped Nat.