A Grave Mistake

by Stella Cameron

  Jilly glanced at Wes, praying he’d turn on Laura, giving Jilly a chance to make a break for it. Once Laura had arrived, Wes had sent everyone off the floor so the chances of getting away were better—just a little better.

  “Michael knew you’d followed him when he went after Zinnia in the graveyard. I bet you never guessed that. He enjoyed hurting you. Just like he enjoyed messing up the brakes on that stupid little car of yours.”

  She didn’t see the blow coming, but she felt it connect, Wes’s entwined fists descending on her collarbone. She heard it snap and couldn’t breathe for the pain.

  “What’s mine is my father’s,” he said. “Including Laura. It’s always been like that between us. I saw the pity in your eyes. Pity! You’re dyin’ bit by bit and you pity me?”

  Jilly hit his face, and paid for the effort with pain. She tried to run past him but Laura stopped her with a fist to the belly. “Killer instincts?” Laura yelled. “You’re getting ’em a little late.”

  West threw up his joined fists and slammed them down just below her shoulder.

  “What have I ever done to you?” Jilly managed to say as blackness moved in around her one open eye. The arm he’d hit burned like fire, then turned ice cold. She tried to move it but it hung, heavy and excruciating, by her side.

  Wes and Laura’s faces faded.

  Once more steely hands connected, with her hip this time. Her feet left the floor. The wall moved toward her, crushed her.

  40

  Edith Preston held the arm Spike offered her. He felt her tremble and felt how warm and clammy her hand was on his skin. “Are you sick, Mrs. Preston?” he asked.

  “Please call me Edith. No, I was a little shocked to see you, that’s all. I thought you were going to give me some terrible news. Are—”

  “No, Edith, I’m not.”

  A blond man hovered in the hall at Edwards Place and the looks he aimed at Spike were not welcoming.

  “Would you like something to eat?” Edith asked. “I know how you busy men forget to stop for lunch. Some sandwiches?”

  “I just ate lunch,” Spike said. “But thank you. Could we have a little chat somewhere?”

  “Thank you, Michael,” Edith said to the other man in a surprisingly strong voice. “Come along.” She took Spike to a sitting room with a view over a rose garden and they sat down in matching yellow armchairs. Two deputies were poised to take Michael in once Spike had time to settle with Edith.

  “I don’t suppose Mr. Preston is here?” Spike said. “Or any other family members?” He wanted to rush but knew he’d only baffle her if he did.

  “No,” she said. “My husband took my daughter-in-law to New Orleans. He’ll go on to Chicago for a meeting and Laura will return to Toussaint with Wes.”

  No useful information, except that he wouldn’t be interrupted by the Prestons.

  With his hands hanging between his knees, he rotated his hat by the brim. “Darn, I guess people see what they want to see,” he said. “Someone in town said they thought they’d seen your husband and Jilly together first thing this mornin’. I was hopin’ if I found him, I’d find her.”

  Edith moved to the edge of her chair. “Jilly will be at her café. She’s always real busy right now.”

  “She’s not there,” Spike said. “Wazoo’s been helpin’ her out while Missy Durand holds things together at Hungry Eyes. I came from the café and Wazoo’s worried. She hasn’t heard a word from Jilly today.”

  “I’ll call her house,” Edith said.

  “She’s not there. She’s…look, I owe it to you to be straightforward. Guy’s in New Orleans and I called him. He told me she’d mentioned meeting up with Mr. Preston but he didn’t know where. She said Mr. Preston wanted to discuss some things with her in private and then they were going on somewhere. Maybe for a meal. I was hopin’ they were here. Too bad.” He put a hand on an arm of the chair to get up.

  “Don’t go,” Edith said. “I should be able to find out where Jilly is easier than you—and quicker.” She took out a handkerchief and ran it over her mouth. Beads of sweat popped on her forehead. “Oh, my Jilly. She’s the best thing I ever accomplished in my life and I ran away and left her behind. Please don’t let her be punished for what I did.”

  “Hush,” Spike said, wishing he’d taken Cyrus up on his offer to come with him—well, almost. Deputy Lori was good at these things but Spike decided she’d be more useful dealing with Michael.

  “I can’t imagine why Daddy would arrange a meeting with Jilly—unless he wants to be the one to tell her some marvelous news on his own. I will be so cross with that man if he ruins what I have in mind. I even have a cake…. No, I know that man of mine and I can figure out exactly what he’s cooked up.”

  “You can?” Spike wanted her to just get it all out. Now.

  “I surely can. I just bet he arranged for them to rendezvous at Prestons—that’s our antiques store, very famous.”

  Spike nodded. Time was passing and who knew how much they had left? “So he and Laura were going to get together with Jilly in New Orleans.”

  “Well—” Edith frowned “—let’s just say he probably wanted to talk to Laura first—just to make sure she understood a few things. She’s a lovely woman and I know she’ll be as excited as I am. But you men… Forgive me, I should have said that sometimes men don’t understand women as well as we understand ourselves. I’d like to contact the shop if that’s agreeable to you.”

  He hadn’t expected this. If Preston was there, more harm than good might be done, but what was he supposed to do, tell Edith not to call her own husband?

  She had taken a cell phone from a drawer in the table beside her chair. Odd, Spike thought, since there was a regular phone on top of the table. Edith hit a single number and waited. Spike wouldn’t have pegged her as a woman who programmed numbers into her phone.

  “Is that you, Russell?” Edith said. “Yes, it’s Edith Preston. I’m tryin’ to track down that family of mine.” She giggled. “I know they always want me to know where they are and that’s why I called you. Is Mr. Preston in?”

  She slumped a little. “Well, if that isn’t the worst luck. He’s already gone to Chicago? That means I’ll be lucky to hook up with him before tomorrow. Russell, would you do me a favor?”

  Edith listened, a satisfied smile hovering. “No wonder Mr. Preston thinks so much of you. You are just so accommodatin’.” She listened again, for several minutes and with the smile still on her face. “Why thank you. I’m glad of the information.” She hung up and sat there with a faraway look in her eyes. “All I ever hoped for was a close family. Now I’ve got it and it gives me such joy.”

  That’s just peachy. “By the look of you, you got some good news,” he said.

  Edith gave a little squeal. “Jilly did go to the shop. That dear girl, she wanted to show interest in the shop—that’s how our manager, Russell Smith, saw it. She was disappointed Daddy wasn’t there, but before Russell could try to track him down, guess what happened?”

  Spike inclined his head. “I never was the best at guessing games, ma’am.”

  “Why, Wes arrived and Russell said he’d never seen him more happy than he was when he saw Jilly.” She sighed. “I know Wes has been tryin’ to let Jilly know she’s welcome in the family.”

  “That’s nice.” Spike felt his blood pressure climb.

  “Do you know what that Wes did?” Edith didn’t wait for a reply. “He took Jilly right out of that shop and they were going out to eat together. When Daddy and Laura arrived a bit later, Daddy did a little bit of business and sent Laura off to join Wes and Jilly. Oh, listen to me babble. It’s just that I’ve prayed for this. How I wish I could have been with them.”

  Spike stood up. He had to talk to Guy and Nat. “All’s well that ends well,” he said with a building sense of horror at the thought of Jilly being with Wes Preston. “I bet Wes knows all the best restaurants in town. Did they go to Emeril’s?”

  Edith frowned.
“Silly me, I should have asked. All Wes said was he was goin’ to his favorite place. Somewhere he goes all the time.”

  “You’re makin’ a mistake.”

  “I’m fresh out of choices, dammit, Nat. If Russell Smith arrives with a team of lawyers and his congress-man—make that, senator—I won’t have to worry about whether or not to work here. But he’s our only hope. He was the last one to see Jilly.”

  Nat pushed a forefinger into the corner of each eye. “What makes you think he’ll tell you more than he told Edith? He’s not going to know where that creep took her.”

  Guy was grateful for the information Spike had got but he wished it could have been just a little bit more.

  A brief tap on the office door stopped Guy. He stood up, past sweating or shaking and now so mad at his own helplessness, he hated himself.

  A uniformed officer ushered a smooth-looking blond man ahead of him. “This is Mr. Russell Smith, sir,” the officer said, and withdrew.

  “First time I was in a police car,” Russell said, and smiled. “Interesting experience. Now I know why crooks like to pull hoods over their heads when they get a ride on the city.”

  Guy didn’t care.

  “Why is that, Mr. Smith?” Nat asked hastily.

  Smith gave a short laugh. “People peer in to see who you are. I felt as if I must have done something wrong.”

  “You were told you could drive your own car, I believe,” Guy said. “You’re the one doing us a favor.” A muscle twitched by his mouth.

  “Yes.” Smith gave Guy a hard look. “I could also have walked, the way I’ll walk back, but I wanted the experience. What’s on your mind, or is subtle intimidation part of your job description?”

  Laughter, Nat’s, wiped the tension out of the moment. “Pull up a chair, Mr. Smith. My partner is one of those serious men who never learned to relax. He’s known around here as Smiley.”

  Guy did smile at that. “Yes, please sit down,” he said. “I thought it would be easier to talk here than at the shop. This is very private. Russell—may I call you Russell?”

  “Of course.” The man sat on a folding metal chair. “I admit I’m nervous as well as curious.”

  “Mr. Sam Preston is the owner of the antiques shop you manage?”

  “Yes. I’ve worked there for eight years. I like it. Mr. Preston puts a great deal of trust in me. It wouldn’t work if he couldn’t because he’s quite rarely there.”

  “Did you see him today?” Guy made himself sit down again.

  “In the middle of the afternoon. He came in with his daughter-in-law, Mrs. Laura Preston.”

  He couldn’t, Guy told himself, ask too many obvious questions, but he had to go for broke somehow because without Jilly he didn’t give a damn what happened to him.

  “Well, that’s good news,” he said, showing his teeth—he hoped, in a smile. “He’ll be able to tell me where I need to look and I can clear up this little matter. I wish I’d known, I could have saved your time.”

  “He’s already left town,” Russell said. “He’s a very busy man.”

  Guy swallowed. He needed inspiration. “Does he often bring Laura with him? I expect she gets bored bein’ around the house.”

  “Oh, no,” Russell said. “She’s a busy woman. And she ought to be a happy one today.” He lowered his voice. “I shouldn’t say this but today she became the owner of a very important diamond. A canary diamond—they’re yellow. Mr. Preston got it at auction and he loves his family so much. He’s always giving the ladies fabulous gifts. He put it in her hand like it was a potato chip.” He laughed at the picture in his own mind. “She popped that beauty on right away and waved Mr. Preston off. She was so happy.”

  “Nice,” Guy said, thinking that Preston should reserve his gift-giving for his wife.

  “They only missed Mr. Wes and his friend, Jilly, by less than an hour but Laura wasn’t bothered. She said she knew just where they’d be and she’d catch up with them.”

  Exactly eight minutes later, with Russell Smith already on his way back to Prestons Antiques, Guy slipped out of a side door at the station and broke into a run.

  He didn’t stop for the traffic that honked or the cabdrivers who hung out of windows and cursed him.

  He had just talked to Amy. She called back because she’d forgotten to tell him about the place Sam and Wes used as their private pleasure club. If Amy was right, Wes Preston liked to eat where there were no other customers: in a back room on the third floor of Jazz Babes.

  41

  Guy had sat on plenty of bar stools in his time. In his line of work, bars, where there were a lot of men and women looking for a friend with open ears, were the places to find the answers he needed. Sometimes.

  Okay, so it didn’t happen nearly often enough.

  Concentrate, dammit. While he was organizing, looking for entrances and exits, restrooms, stairs, closed doors, Jilly might be dying.

  Jazz Babes hadn’t showed up on his radar until after Pip Sedge died—not in any way that had left a big impression. Nat knew the place from some petty stuff that came up before he and Guy became partners.

  Guy made circles on the lacquered wood countertop with the bottom of his glass. He touched the beer to his mouth from time to time. The lights were low, the music loud, the decor opulent, the clientele well heeled. Most men came in alone and were met by some of the most beautiful women Guy had ever seen—women dressed to advertise, to suggest.

  A male bartender swiped a cloth in arcs down the length of the bar. He wore a Hawaiian shirt in pink and green—hibiscus and palm fronds. A heavy gold cross nestled in graying chest hair and three more crosses dangled from his left ear. He nodded and turned up the corners of his mouth at Guy. “Drinkin’ an early dinner?” he said, and sniggered. “Ain’t very hungry, are you?”

  “Drinkin’ is the one thing I do slowly,” Guy said. “You worked here long?”

  “Long enough. Pay’s good, no one messes with me, hours like clockwork. What’s not to like?”

  Guy puffed up his cheeks and slowly expelled the air. “How’d you get so lucky? Jockey I work for is a pig. All he wants is all you’ve got—for nuthin’.” Fortunately Mr. Lucky didn’t ask what Guy did.

  The bartender moved off in response to a yelling customer. He’d go to the men’s room, Guy decided—then “get lost” and see how he could get himself to the third floor.

  Long fingernails ran along the side of his neck.

  Guy looked sideways into a pair of green eyes that would do a cat proud. Red hair, too, long and sleek—and white skin, lots of it. The woman looked at him over the shoulder of a man in a business suit, and she winked. He raised his eyebrows.

  Seated on almost touching stools, the female had her legs open and resting on the man’s thighs. She fluttered those fingernails at Guy, who sipped his beer. The man turned his head and discovered the love of his life eyeing Guy.

  She treated her companion to a big, wet, sucking kiss while he took his wallet out of his inside jacket pocket. Licking Red’s neck, he pulled out several hundreds and fluttered the bills in front of her eyes. She made a playful grab for the money, then pouted when he held it out of her reach.

  A white satin halter and tiny matching shorts made for a picture Guy might have watched if he’d had time. He stood up, lifted a finger to the bartender and pointed at his still half-full glass. As an afterthought, he gulped down more before he settled his hat low over his eyes.

  Red caught the tip of her tongue between her teeth. Evidently she thought she was too much woman for one man. And, whooee, maybe she was at that. The man of the moment let her have the bills, and while she kissed them, he gripped the bottom of the halter and hauled it above considerable breasts. A cheer went up and she smiled fatuously all around, supporting herself proudly with her hands, caressing her skin with greenbacks.

  “Twenty a kiss,” the jokester yelled, pointing at nipples the size of russet-colored saucers. “Come on up.”

  Several c
ustomers rushed forward waving their twenties and Guy used the diversion to make his way to the men’s room. He didn’t want to think of Jilly being in this place. A backward glance gave him a view of several of the house ladies collecting money for those little kisses. Laughter climbed. Red’s man stuck a hand inside her shorts and gave her a lower-back massage.

  The sideshow could be the most useful thing that ever happened to Guy. He pushed through red-and-gold-striped draperies that covered an archway. Everywhere he looked he saw more sumptuous fabrics. The low lights probably helped the way the place looked. They obviously sprayed the place with perfume, but it didn’t mix so well with the scent of booze.

  Stairs at the front of the building rose a short flight and made a turn to another. A sign pointed where he supposedly wanted to go and he turned that way. He was jumpy again and desperation started a panicky sweat along his backbone. He used his wide-eyed, vacant look and stumbled a couple of times on the way. All he wanted to find was an elevator.

  He went into the men’s room and stood in front of a urinal. You could always rely on beer at such moments.

  The door opened again and he flexed the muscles in his back.

  The new arrival stood next to him. Then followed him to the sinks. Guy looked at Nat in the mirror and barely stopped himself from landing a punch. They knew him here, he’d said as much.

  “I’ve been followin’ you,” Nat said, as if he’d never spoken to Guy before. “I saw you puttin’ the rush on my strawberry. That girl’s expensive. You owe me.”

  “I didn’t touch her.” And she hadn’t seemed like a cokie who did it for cocaine to him.

  “She touched you, man. You give her what she wanted, huh? You make plans to see her later?”

  Guy barely caught the movement of Nat’s beckoning left forefinger. That meant they would scuffle and get close enough to pass a message. You couldn’t trust an inch of a place like this. Chances were bugs and cameras were permanent design features.