French Quarter

by Stella Cameron

  Dwayne must once have had acne. The pores around his nose were enlarged. Jack realized he was refusing to concentrate because he wasn’t ready to deal with potentially tangible facts about Errol’s death—and his killer.

  “Well?” Dwayne said.

  “Antoine went up then?” Jack asked. “When I arrived, he already knew Errol was dead? Why didn’t he do something? And why didn’t he say something when he saw me?”

  “I don’t know. And 1 don’t know if he did go into the house. He may not have thought it was for him to interfere.”

  “Of course you know. Antoine came to tell you all this.”

  “I do not know the rest of his story. He said he knew too much. Then he told me he must be careful not to hurt good people who were his friends, then he stopped talking. Not another word, I tell you. He said he was afraid. He said he thought he’d been followed here, and he was leaving.”

  Jack threw up his hands. Jean-Claude was still making slow progress toward Dwayne, but he was on his way. “Tell me quickly, please. What was he afraid of?”

  “It’s obvious, dear. He thinks he saw the murderer—who evidently went back into the house because he’d forgotten something, and then sneaked out again, never expecting to be seen. All that would be good news, or it could be, if Antoine didn’t think this guy—although he’s not certain it was a guy—it could have been really useful information for the police if Antoine hadn’t told me he’d clam up if we told them because he’s afraid he’ll be the next one to turn up dead.”

  Celina stood at the single window in her small sitting room and looked down into the street. A silver Mercedes was parked at the curb with a tall, broad-shouldered young man leaning against the driver’s door. “Is that yours?” she asked without looking at either Sally or Wilson Lamar. “The new Mercedes?”

  “Isn’t it lovely?” Sally said. “Actually it’s all mine. Wilson insisted.”

  The man by the car was familiar, but Celina couldn’t place him. “And the chauffeur? Is that man leaning on the car yours too, or should you go down and tell him to go away?” Then get in your “lovely” car and leave.

  Sally giggled. “That’s Ben. He’s supposed to be Wilson’s chauffeur, but that’s not really what he is.” She sent Celina a knowing glance.

  “What is he, then?”

  “Oh, don’t be naive. He’s Wilson’s bodyguard. There are dangers attached to running for public office, you know. Aren’t there, Wilson darlin’?”

  “We aren’t here to discuss our household staff,” Wilson said brusquely. “We came to talk about you, Celina, and our concern for you.”

  She hated him. One of her hands went to her stomach. She hated the father of the child she carried, and loved. That shook her deeply.

  “I heard your brother is with you,” Sally said, peering around as if Cyrus might be hiding behind a piece of furniture. “Your parents would have come with us this morning, but they are very upset that their only son—and he a priest—has returned to their very doorstep, so to speak. And he’s been here for ages, but he hasn’t bothered to go and see them.”

  “Cyrus is here on personal business.” Could she really lie about something like this? Celina glanced involuntarily upward. “Visiting the diocese. He had to come on short notice and he needed a place to stay. I’m closer to the chancery than our parents.” Cyrus had come to New Orleans to visit the diocese, but he’d had no plans to stay until he’d discovered Celina’s plight.

  Sally had lost interest in why Cyrus was there. “Where is he?” She pressed her palms together. “At mass? Such an unusual man.”

  “That’s right, he’s at mass. Why did you say you were here?”

  “To make sure you’re all right, of course,” Sally said, trotting on her inevitable high heels to put an unwelcome arm around Celina’s shoulders. “We are all so worried about you. Your mother and father begged us to come and persuade you to do what you should do.”

  “Which is?”

  “Now, just a minute, ladies.” Wilson had yet to meet Celina’s eyes. Dressed in a light gray silk suit and luminously white shirt with a black tie, he exuded health and vitality from every tanned inch of skin. “There are a few things I’d like to say at this juncture. I owe it to Bitsy and Neville—without whom I’m not sure I should be in quite so enviable a position—I owe it to them to follow their instructions to the letter. So I must ask you both to let me talk for them. And I must ask you to listen without interrupting me.”

  Sally rolled her eyes, wrinkled her nose, and flopped down on Celina’s couch.

  “Your parents are very worried about you,” Wilson said solemnly. “And so are Sally and myself. There is a murderer on the loose.”

  How could she ever have thought he was a good man who cared for people? She wanted him anywhere but near her. She said, “In New Orleans, one murderer on the loose would be good news.”

  “That’s not the point, Celina. This man struck in this very house.”

  “Oh, don’t!” Sally said, rubbing her bare arms. “You make me prickly all over.”

  “Good. I hope I make Celina prickly all over too. Perhaps that will persuade her that she’s foolish to remain here.”

  Celina shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “I am safe here. Probably more safe than if poor Errol hadn’t been killed. Whoever did that awful thing isn’t likely to come back.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “It’s logical, isn’t it? He’ll assume the house is being watched. And he’ll also notice that Cyrus is staying here at the moment.”

  “Aha!” Sally pointed a pink nail at Celina. “Now we have it. That darling Cyrus came because he was worried about you too. But she does have a point, Wilson. I hardly think whoever did it will come back to the same place, especially since there’s a man staying here. A man who would make anyone think twice about trying anything.”

  Sally’s smile and faraway look disquieted Celina. She knew how much Cyrus disliked any attention that had sexual overtones.

  “You are both kind to come and check on me,” Celina said, every word a stone in her throat. “But this is my home at present. And my work is here. So it’s natural for me to remain.”

  “Bitsy and Neville want you back at home. Now.” Wilson was never convincing in the masterful but reasonable mode—not to Celina. Violent suppression of someone weaker was his style. “We want to take you with us when we leave this morning. You get packed while we wait for your brother. When he gets back, you can tell him you’re moving home.”

  “And we’re going to help you through these difficult times,” Sally said. “Wilson and I know how much Errol and Dreams meant to you. It’s going to be a difficult transition, and we don’t want to make light of that. So Wilson has something wonderful to tell you.”

  Celina didn’t trust herself to speak at all.

  “I have a job for you, Celina,” Wilson said, rocking from his heels to his toes and lacing his hands behind his back. “I want to put you in charge of publicity for the campaign. I haven’t been pleased with the current arrangement. Ι need your expertise. You can be our Dreams Girl.” His smug smile nauseated her.

  “Isn’t that wonderful?” Sally said.

  Wilson continued. “We all know it isn’t realistic to think Dreams can carry on now. Not with everything that’s coming out about Errol. But Ι won’t forget those children and their needs. I’ll make sure their needs—”

  “What are you talking about? What’s coming out about Errol?”

  Sally opened the large straw bag she carried and took out a newspaper. “I should be angry with Charmain, but she’s only doing her job and she’s so interesting.” She held the front page up for Celina to see. “Ι never knew Errol was a sex addict.”

  “He wasn’t anymore,” Celina said, scanning a headline that blared: Saint or Sinner. Local Philanthropist Had History of Sexual Addiction.

  “This is only one paper,” Sally said. “And it happens to be Charmain’s byl
ine. But there are similar pieces—not as informed—but similar pieces in other papers.”

  Celina returned to the window and pulled a curtain aside. She didn’t trust herself to speak.

  “We should be ready to leave when—”

  “I’m not going anywhere. And that stuff about Errol is so unfair. It was a long time ago and he’s made up for it in so many ways. These people are despicable.”

  “It says he used to pick up women and bring them back here,” Sally said, reading.

  “Please leave.” Celina went to the door and held it open. “Please go now. I want to be alone. And Ι will be carrying on with my work for Dreams. In fact, I have a very full schedule of appointments today. Jack Charbonnet. You know him, of course. Although Jack didn’t take an active part in the foundation, he was Errol’s partner. Now he intends to take over from Errol, and he wants me to do exactly what I’ve been doing.”

  “Charbonnet?” Sneers didn’t suit Wilson. “You really think you are goin’ to have any luck gettin’ support in this town with a man like that at the helm? He’s a gangster’s son and he owns a casino. A riverboat. Somethin’ else I intend to work to eradicate. Law-abidin’ people don’t want the element that comes in with gamblin’.”

  “Organized crime is what comes in,” Sally said, elevating her chin. “For your dear mother’s and father’s sakes, you won’t have a thing to do with that man. He’s bad, Celina. Everyone knows it.”

  Pointing out that he wasn’t so bad that they hadn’t invited him to their last fund-raiser would be pointless. She already knew they would take anybody’s money. She made herself breathe deeply. “I know you mean well, but I can’t leave my work here, especially not now, with so much left undone.”

  “It’s not going to happen now,” Sally told her, her mouth in a thin line. “None of it. You’ve just got to accept reality, Celina. Donations aren’t going to be made. There’ll be no auctions, and no big bucks to play Lady Bountiful with. People all over the country have read about Errol today. Some of them will be worrying about whether or not he was dangerous to have around their children.”

  “Errol’s dead,” Celina said quietly.

  “Well, I know he is. But I mean that when he wasn’t he could have been doing goodness knows what when he was alone with one of those children.”

  Wilson had the sense to cough and shake a hand at his wife. “That’s not important, Sally. All that rumor stuff. From what the papers say, Errol wasn’t likely to be into pedophilia.”

  “Shut up,” Celina said loudly. “Shut up and get out. How dare you come here making such disgusting suggestions. Here’s the door. Use it.”

  “We’re not going without you,” Sally said, all huff. “I hear Cyrus coming. He’ll talk sense into you.”

  Not Cyrus, but Antoine appeared in the doorway. “I been lookin’ for you, Miss Celina. I need to talk to you about somethin’, me. Somethin’ I saw. I should have said before, much before.”

  “Of course, Antoine. My company’s leaving.”

  Antoine looked past her and backed away. “You got comp’ny. I’m sorry, Miss Celina, I didn’t notice. I come back later, me.”

  “No. Stay.” She didn’t even know for sure that Antoine heard her last words, because he’d already reached the door to the outside and in seconds she heard his feet thudding down the steps.

  “Celina—”

  “Please, Wilson, go away. You have no tact. Neither of you has any tact. My parents think a great deal of you, or I would never speak to you again.” Whatever she did or said she must keep some semblance of detachment with this man—a distance that would help establish that she had no connection to him and never had. How she wished that were true.

  Sally got up and smoothed her tight white dress over her very nice body. “She’ll change her mind,” she told Wilson. “She’s not thinking properly. We’ll give her time.”

  Wilson looked dubious.

  “How insightful of you, Sally,” Celina said. She’d do anything to get rid of them. “I’m on overload. Be careful going down the steps in those heels. I wouldn’t want you to break your neck.” She smiled.

  Sally didn’t smile. She went to Wilson and took a firm hold of his hand. “We’ll be going directly to Bitsy and Neville. Those poor dears are beside themselves. If you were a dutiful daughter, you’d want to save them that.”

  Celina wanted to say that Sally would make a great mother in the Bitsy Payne school of mothering. Ladle on the guilt whenever possible was Mama’s theory.

  “We’ll be back,” Wilson said, giving Celina a long look. Reason had left his eyes, and she saw again the man who had violated her. If she were alone with him now, he’d be likely to try force again.

  She held her tongue until they left, then marched back and forth with gritted teeth and clenched fists. There was a new focus in her life, and she mustn’t forget it no matter how hard that focus was going to make the immediate future. The Lamars had to be kept at bay.

  She’d bought several new dresses that skimmed her breasts and flared just enough to look stylish and soft. In bright shades and made of georgette or challis, they flipped about her knees. The look was good and drew attention away from her stomach, but someone with a practiced eye could look at her now and guess she was pregnant.

  Celina spread a hand over her belly. A flare of tenderness brought tightness to her throat. She’d begun to visualize the child within her, and to wait. Mothers throughout time must have known that sense of waiting.

  On the heels of warmth and possessiveness came a fear so deep and strange, she caught her breath. What if she should lose her baby? She couldn’t. Oh. please let her baby be safe and healthy.

  There was too much to do for her to wallow in anxiety.

  The first order of business must be to locate Antoine and find out what was disturbing him. Celina looked down at her tummy. She couldn’t help remembering Dwayne’s enthusiasm, and it made her smile. He’d been right. A new life was reason for celebration. When she held her child in her arms, he or she would be all that mattered. This little one was innocent, and she would not give him or her up.

  She left her sitting room but didn’t get much farther. Jack let himself into the house. He didn’t immediately realize she was there, and his bowed head showed off the dramatic angles of his face. It also accented a deeply troubled expression.

  Her heart lifted at the sight of him. That had to be because she felt alone and vulnerable and he was a strong man who seemed afraid of nothing.

  “Hi, Jack,” she said, not wanting him to think she was watching him covertly—even though that’s exactly what she’d like to do. “I swear I shall never get any work done today. I’m so popular. The visitors keep on coming.”

  “I’m not a visitor.”

  He had a talent for cutting through any attempt at lightening the mood. “No. of course not.”

  “What did Lamar and his wife want?”

  “They wanted me to move home with my parents and go to work for Wilson.” Not that Jack had a right to know what her visitors had said.

  “Sounds like a nightmare.”

  “And you sound rude. I avoid insulting people’s parents.”

  “Don’t be coy. You know what I mean.”

  “Perhaps I do. Errol’s room is still taped. The police have said I can use the rest of his suite now. I should go there and get on the phone. I need to start picking up some pieces.”

  The denim shirt Jack wore was open at the throat and the sleeves were rolled up over his tanned and strongly made forearms. He studied her more carefully than made for comfort.

  “I really should get on, Jack. Are there things you need to look over? I’d be happy to organize whatever you need.”

  He shook his head once. “Have you seen the papers?”

  “What we have to do is work on damage control.”

  She liked him for his matter-of-fact response to trouble. “I think so too. Do you think it would be useful to contact Charmain Bienvi
lle? I was trying to think of something we could offer her to call off the dogs.”

  Again she got the short, sharp shake of the head. He ran his eyes over old black and white Petrie family photographs that covered the walls in every corridor. “Errol was the last Petrie,” he said absently. Then he looked at her. “I think we meet the gossip head-on and play to public sympathy. Yes, Errol had problems, big problems. But he faced up to them and sought treatment. He was an example to be followed. And this was years ago.”

  “I agree.” Just having some sort of plan brought a rush of relief. “I’ll get right on it and write a press release.”

  “I’ll help you. First there’s something you and I have to talk about.”

  Apprehension turned her palms moist. “It’s probably not a good idea to waste time. I also want to reach the local TV stations.”

  “That too. But you and I need to talk about our last two meetings.”

  The corridor began to feel too small for the two of them.

  “There’s nothing to say, Jack. You know what you know. But you won’t talk about it because you don’t want more mud on Errol’s name—any more than I do. Can we let it drop, please?”

  “Pregnancies don’t stand still, Celina.”

  “Thanks for the information.”

  “I’m not in the mood for sarcasm. I’m deadly serious about this.” He studied her body so frankly, her cheeks began to burn. “You choose your clothes well, but you must be starting to thicken at the waist.”

  She pressed her hands to her cheeks. “Please, don’t.”

  “I think pregnancy looks great, but then, I’ve always thought pregnant women look great. I’m just stating facts.’’

  “I’m taking care of things. I’m making slow changes in my clothes, but I’ve got to be careful to avoid anything too flamboyant, or I’ll do the opposite of what I want to do.”

  “Which is?”

  “Buy time, of course. Disguise my pregnancy for as long as possible.”

  Jack put his hands in his jeans pockets. He turned sideways, but looked at her. “This means you’ve decided to keep the baby.”