Kiss Them Goodbye

by Stella Cameron

  “I think you’ve said enough on that subject,” Cyrus told her.

  “Why? Because the man of God put on his collar and his thing fall off? I don’t think so.”

  Spike pressed his lips together and frowned. Damn, she could be funny—as long as she wasn’t talking about him.

  “You’re right,” Cyrus said, so calm Spike would have taken his hat off to the man if he’d been wearing one. “I’d say the thing I have is right where it’s supposed to be.”

  Wazoo laughed and slapped her knees. “And it works, too, I’m thinkin’, me. You no mystery to me, God man. Not like to some others. You scared to put your thing in a woman on account of you got to be just a man then. Shout like a man, and cry out when you come, hold her breasts in you hands and kiss them sweet things, let her pump you out and leave you dry. Helpless. Like I say, just a man then and just a man mean you can’t hide no more. You a sinner like the rest, then, and you human.”

  Astonished, Spike couldn’t look at Cyrus. This woman’s gall struck them both dumb, yet she had wisdom.

  Cyrus’s face stung as if she’d slapped him. When would it stop being his lot to have his commitment to the Church questioned? This exotic little woman wasn’t a fool. She spoke to shock, but she spoke the truth. Stripped down to a few sentences, L’Oiseau set his mind and his struggles naked before him.

  She gathered up her hair and held it on top of her head. With one hand a man could all but span her fragile neck. A pointed chin, a bowed, full mouth, shadows beneath high cheekbones. If he were free to do as he pleased, he’d ask her what she was hiding from and see how honest she might be with the roles switched.

  “We different,” L’Oiseau said. “But I could like you because you strong and brave.”

  “Thank you,” Cyrus said, “and God bless you.” He didn’t expect any response.

  Spike watched the crystal ball as if he saw something there—the truth? Cyrus wondered. Ah, the truth, whatever that was. He folded his arms tightly and prayed for this little woman with the troubled mind, and perhaps heart. Soon he must pray for himself.

  Perhaps each human being needed a crystal ball, Cyrus thought, amused at the idea even as he chastised himself for such ideas.

  “I know things,” Wazoo said, sitting down on the gray carpet with her legs crossed. “Yes, I am psychic. I was born so, me. Once I didn’t want it, but now I know I am sent here like this because there is work for me to do.”

  Cyrus and Spike made polite noises. Cyrus hadn’t forgotten Wazoo arriving at Rosebank with a radio hidden on her person.

  “Things happenin’ in this town, and in certain other places I know, me. I see things.”

  “So you’ve told us,” Spike said, checking his watch again. “How about telling us what they are quickly so we can go on our way.”

  “Can’t hurry these matters. Need to do ceremony here and there first. Got to drive the evil out.”

  “Sheesh, an exorcism,” Spike said, unable to contain himself any longer. “Go on.”

  “Miz Patin, she go with you to New Orleans?”

  Spike planted his elbows on his knees and supported his head. He would keep his mouth shut from now on.

  “I see,” Wazoo said. “She do and you in a hurry. Maybe better to be slow. Get there late and stay somewhere. Drivin’ when you tired is no good. Spend the night. One room cheaper than two. Dark night in strange place, two bodies so different. Mystery and discovery. If you ain’t been with her then it’s time. Readiness for sex is not a convention thing, not how long you know each other. Your bodies tell you and should not be denied.”

  “Gotta go,” Spike said, beginning to like her suggestions too much. “Come on Cyrus.”

  “You go you be sorry,” she said and stretched out on her back on the carpet. “Something missing must be found. Maybe someone already got it. A guide to treasure, maybe? Worth to kill for, huh?”

  “You’re guessing,” Spike said.

  “But people die for treasure, yes?”

  Reluctantly Spike said, “Sometimes.”

  “Vivian will be expectin’ you,” Cyrus reminded him.

  “Yeah,” Wazoo said. “She waitin’. She crazy ’bout you that one.”

  He surely hoped so. And he hoped he’d be able to do something about it.

  “Keep me around,” Wazoo said. She looked at Cyrus and said, absolutely serious, “You tell him I good woman, me. No malice. Only want to help.”

  Spike expected Cyrus to slide out of that one but he said, “We all need to be needed. I think Wazoo is a good woman.”

  Then Cyrus must see something in Wazoo that Spike did not see. Wazoo watched the priest with puzzled eyes.

  “I try to talk to that ugly one, Bonine,” she said. “I don’t think he know nothing but he bluffing. I ask if I can help him and he laugh in my face.”

  “So I was second choice?” Spike said, his tongue in a cheek.

  “I mad with myself now. Should have started with you first.”

  “That’s touching,” Spike said. He got up. “Detective Bonine is a more formal man than I am. He’s not so approachable.”

  “I drive evil spirits out of Rosebank, maybe Serenity House, out of Jilly’s place, too.”

  “All Tarted Up?” Now she was completely losing him again.

  “Uh-huh,” she said. “All the people around go there. Leave evil behind. I already do work at your office, Spike, when you and that poor Lori out.”

  “Poor Lori?”

  “She one woman with the job of six officers. You need better pay and so does Lori. And she need help.”

  “You know a great deal,” Cyrus ventured. “But I think you want what’s best for others.”

  She flapped a hand at him. “And I work on the girl with no past.”

  Spike felt blank.

  “You know her,” Wazoo said. “Ellie Byron at the bookshop. I know she good but so sad. She go back maybe five year ago when she show up in Lafayette. Before then, nothing.”

  “You’re giving me a headache,” Spike told her with honesty. “Tomorrow I should have a little time. We can talk then.”

  “Too late,” she said. “I tell you more. The woman at Serenity House, Susan Hurst. She who not take her husband name. She too busy on her own, do too many things. She here and there. There’s a man. She visit him sometimes and she different when she leave his place.”

  “I don’t think we’ll touch that,” Spike said.

  “Wazoo,” Cyrus said in his priestly voice. “I’d like you to come and visit me. You’ll find I’m not a fearsome man and perhaps I can help you deal with these things you imagine.”

  “I expect people to say I make things up.” She closed her eyes, disgusted, and said to Spike, “You deputize me. This an emergency. You deputize me and I work for you so no one else dies.”

  Spike looked straight ahead and hoped for guidance.

  “You won’t be sorry,” Wazoo said. “I help stop the killing. Unless I make a mistake like two days ago.”

  “What mistake?” She had all of his attention now.

  She pressed her lips together and poked fingers into her temples. “Nothing. I not mean that, me. I can help. I stay near you.”

  “I really appreciate your generous offer,” Spike said, “but even if I’d been told to take on another deputy, it wouldn’t have anything to do with the Rosebank murder. That’s not in my jurisdiction.” When would someone other than Errol Bonine finally accept that? “I’ll admit to needin’ more help in Toussaint but there’s no money for it.” He’d also admit to himself that he wouldn’t rest easy unless he kept a watch on this woman.

  “I want to help,” Wazoo insisted. “I work for free. I worried for Vivian Patin, me. Find a way for me to be close there. I ask my friend, Ellie Byron, what she think and she tell me to ask and hope you not laugh.”

  “I’m not laughin’,” Spike said, “but neither are you tellin’ me everythin’.”

  “May I, Spike?” Cyrus asked and when he got t
he nod turned his attention back to Wazoo. “You’re frightened. Let us help you.”

  “Nothin’ frighten me,” she insisted, sitting up again. “I have power. I offer to help you is all.”

  Spike met Cyrus’s eyes and he wished they could talk alone before this thing went any further.

  “I tell you one thing,” Wazoo said, her eyes glazing. “Gil Mayes don’t leave Rosebank. I don’t see exactly where he at yet. But I will.” She closed her eyes and bowed her head.

  Spike wanted to leave but something he couldn’t put in words kept him there, waiting for her to finish.

  “I see what I got to do,” she said. “You take me to that house and make sure they accept me there. Charlotte and Vivian need help and I can do things.”

  “I don’t know—”

  “Maybe Gil still alive.” Wazoo raised her chin. Her eyes were wide open and radiant. “I got to hurry.”

  Chapter 19

  Martin, Martin and Martin occupied quarters entered through an archway to a cool, leafy courtyard just off Chartres on Toulouse in the Quarter.

  Vivian knew the place too well. The green wrought-iron gates that separated the hot and bustling street from the courtyard stood open. At night they would be locked to keep out both revelers and those who called the alleys and doorways of New Orleans home.

  “Is this a good idea?” she asked Spike. “You never really explained what you hoped to find.”

  Dressed in a navy-blue shirt with buttoned-down collar and tan chinos, the man beside her seemed very different from the Toussaint lawman. He wore loafers. The shirt cuffs were turned back from wrists where hair picked up the afternoon sun. He looked at her with concern and she wondered if he were afraid she’d get in the way of his plans for the lawyers’ offices.

  She didn’t expect him to hook one side of her hair behind her ear and she flinched at his touch. Spike eased her in front of him and settled his mouth on her forehead.

  Vivian blinked. It wouldn’t be hard to stand here, a little too hot, perhaps, aware of the pungent odors of old, mossy stones, stale booze and the sweet perfume of jasmine and ginger, and decide to forget about murder.

  His hands were around her waist and she could feel the beat of his heart.

  People brushed by, laughing, shouting, singing along with boom boxes, but Vivian didn’t care. She slid her hands up his arms and across his shoulders. “Do we have any choices left?” she asked him. “Could we forget anythin’ terrible happened and just hope it all works out without us doin’ anything?”

  “No. But I wish we could.” Spike looked down into her face. He surely wished they could because he saw nothing but more danger and trouble ahead. “I didn’t say I was hopin’ to find something we can hold in our hands, cher. Or maybe I did but I didn’t mean it quite the way it sounded. Like I told you, I don’t buy Gary Legrain’s talk about tryin’ to find clues in Guy’s records or somewhere around Rosebank. Legrain wants to keep you and Charlotte as clients because he figures you’ll be worth it again once things iron out.”

  “I figured that,” Vivian said. “But I do think he’s kind. He wants to do the right things to help us.”

  Why, oh why? “Ooh, ya ya, I need to keep thinking straight.” He tilted his head for another angle on her. “I…I want this to be over and I want to quit worrying about every little thing that comes into my head.” He’d almost said he mistrusted Legrain’s reasons for being quite so attentive, or rather, he had a good idea what some of them were and didn’t like them. The man didn’t look at Vivian as if he thought of her as nothing but a client.

  “Do you think we should call this off today?” she asked.

  “Uh-uh. Somethin’s naggin’ at me. Martin, Martin and Martin. No Legrain. He told me he’d been with the firm eight years. Wouldn’t you think he’d be a partner by now?”

  Her magenta blouse and white slacks showed off a body with the power to distract Spike. While she thought about his question, he made the mistake of studying her mouth. Then he began to feel it beneath his and deliberately looked over her head to distract himself.

  “The other two Martins are Louis’s sons,” she said finally. “I’ve only met them socially. I never thought about whether or not Gary’s a partner. Maybe he is and they haven’t changed the nameplate over there.”

  “What about the letterhead?” He already knew the answer.

  Vivian frowned. “I’m not sure. No, his name isn’t on it but he’s never had a reason to write to Mama as far as I know. Why would he before now? Anyway, he could have his own stationery.”

  Spike shrugged. They both knew otherwise. “Charlotte promised to call Gary after we left and let him know we’d be stopping by just to visit.”

  “She never said anything. I thought we’d just see if he was in and had a few minutes.” She gave him a withering look. “You and Mama knew you ought to ask me what I thought before arranging that. You don’t think twice about doing something behind a person’s back.”

  “I didn’t think of making a song and dance about it.” He hadn’t. “But now I think it was a real good idea since you look like you’d back out if you could.”

  “I still can. And that would mean you couldn’t go snoopin’ around in there, either, ’cause I’m your ticket in.”

  “Absolutely true,” he said, although she was wrong if she really thought he wouldn’t go in anyway. “Wouldn’t want to push you into anythin’. After all, you only asked me to do the work you don’t think Bonine will get to. But if you’ve changed your mind we might as well get along back.”

  Vivian looked at her feet and considered, if only for a second, landing him just a little kick to one of his solid shins. Instead, she did what she preferred to do anyway and gave him a good poke in the chest.

  She shouldn’t have done it. The moment he staggered backward, clutching a handful of his shirt, moaning, Vivian knew she should not have poked him.

  “Stop it,” she hissed. “You’re making fools of both of us.”

  Apparently stumbling over his feet, he wove his way back, this time managing to seem drunk. Falling on her neck and hugging her tight enough to wind her he muttered in her ear, “Learn a lesson, sweet Vivian. If you say things you don’t really mean, I’ll call your bluff every time. Are we goin’ home or goin’ in? Your call. Of course, I’ll be sorry if you decide you don’t want me workin’ for you after all.”

  Vivian pushed him away, but she smiled and the rush of feeling to her throat was close to pure happiness. She loved being with this man. “I’m sorry for getting cold feet,” she told him. “Everything feels so strange but I want you, Spike, you know I do.”

  Not a hint of humor remained in his expression. “Do you?”

  Her tummy did odd things. “I meant I want you to keep on working for me.” When he turned the corners of his mouth down, she added, “You know how I feel about the other, but I’m confused. I know I’ve given you the impression I don’t have any reservations and maybe I don’t. Give me more time.”

  It had been worth taking the chance, Spike thought, shaking her shoulder gently. She might have fallen for it and given him the nod on the personal angle. Not that she’d exactly turned him down and the day wasn’t over yet.

  “Let’s go in,” she said. “I’m still not sure what you want to accomplish but, hey, I’ll find out.”

  He wasn’t about to make a big deal out of his having nothing but a hunch and a hunch that could be based in part on male possessiveness.

  Vivian caught his sleeve and he stopped. “Something has bothered me about Louis’s death, other than the horror of it. His sons didn’t rush down to Rosebank. They haven’t even made a call. I don’t think that’s normal.”

  “It’s not.” He was still getting accustomed to the thought of Louis’s sons. “But families have different ways of dealing with crises.”

  The second floor entrance to Martin, Martin and Martin took them up a flight of iron steps to a gallery. On the ground floor, on either side of the
archway, were the backs of an antique store and a gumbo shop on Toulouse. The shiny painted doors and bright windows of residences occupied the rest of the spaces. A stone dolphin spouted tinkling water in a small corner fountain.

  “You think all this belongs to one owner?” Spike indicated the entire property surrounding them. “Probably leased out, huh?”

  “I remember my daddy tellin’ me the Martins owned the whole thing,” Vivian said.

  A short distance from the highly polished oak doors of the legal firm, two women sat at a round table, smoking and laughing. They spoke Cajun, which Vivian didn’t understand enough to translate, but the way they eyed Spike did hint at their subject.

  Spike’s finger on the bell produced a harsh ringing from inside and a woman’s voice over the intercom. “Yes?” One of those wordy types.

  Spike announced them and they were buzzed in without any comment.

  The discreetly lit interior felt rich and graceful. Vivian wondered if this building and its contents had been spared in the 1877 fire or if the Martins had accomplished a particularly perfect renovation and spent a fortune on antiques to fit the period.

  A woman sat behind an old French desk and watched them approach. “I’ve let Mr. Legrain’s assistant know you’re here,” she said, and Vivian decided she wasn’t rude, but uptight. She glanced repeatedly over her shoulder. The loss of Louis must be a blow to the staff.

  “Tate Barnes,” said a blond woman in a big hurry who rushed toward them over oriental carpets and glowing wood floors. She shook hands with both of them. “I remember you, of course, Ms. Patin. Come with me to Mr. Legrain’s waiting room. He’s got unexpected visitors but I hope they won’t be with him long.” Like the receptionist, Tate Barnes showed nervousness.

  Situated at the end of a long corridor, about at a corner of the building, Vivian figured, Gary’s suite was more sparsely furnished than anything they’d seen so far, but no less tasteful.

  “Mr. Legrain asked them to come,” Tate whispered. “They never said they would. Just showed up. Do make yourselves comfortable.”

  Spike barely stopped himself from asking who “they” were.