Cyrus groaned. “What did I say about not jumping to conclusions?”
“What about my stuff?” Wally said in a loud voice. He hadn’t seen the business card. “It stinks. I reckon it’s got compost on it. I think someone dug it up from the heap at Rosebank. Whoever put it there thought it would burn up in the fire, but someone else took it away first. They put it where the bonfire dirt was dumped. Back of the pool.” With that, he reached into the sack and pulled out several pieces of jagged wood. He fitted two lengths together. “See, it says Detour. I got another says Dead End. Somebody wanted them to burn up. Someone else wanted them to be found.”
“You can’t be sure of that,” Madge said. “But it’s a clever idea.”
“He more than clever,” Wazoo said. “They the signs that bad man stuck in them big tubs with laurel in them, the ones he dragged around.”
Wally got up and marched in front of her. He turned one piece of the broken board over. “See,” he said. “It was starting to burn.”
Spike said, “Wally may be on to something. Is it okay if I take what you’ve found and have some tests run?”
“Yes,” Wally said slowly. “Don’t it make sense there’s two of ’em. One who tried to get rid of the signs and one who wants to make sure we catch the first one? And the signs must’ve been put there after the cops searched or they’d have found ’em. It’s one of them setups.”
“Sign up that boy, Spike,” Madge said. “Deputy Wally is ready for duty and you’re shorthanded.”
Wally blushed but looked pleased.
Spike held up the card Cyrus had taken from the woman. “So, what do we seem to have here?” He looked at Wally as if he might ask him to leave but Vivian saw him decide against sending the boy away. “Don’t all speak at once.”
Vivian immediately said, “A plastic surgery clinic for people who want the best and don’t want to go home until everything’s healed. Secretive people.”
“Rich people,” Madge said. “Probably famous.”
Cyrus nodded. “The kind of people who don’t expect murders to happen almost under their windows and draw attention.”
“I thought Morgan Link might be a psychologist,” Cyrus said. “Now we’ve really got a fresh mess on our hands.”
“And Link lives right next door,” Vivian said. “He wanders all over Rosebank whenever he likes. He probably knows it as well as we do. And neither he nor Susan ever said a word about opening an elite clinic. They must be desperate to get their hands on our place and make sure it never opens.”
“Morgan Link wouldn’t kill people at Rosebank if he were trying to avoid drawing attention,” Cyrus said.
“Unless he just wanted an excuse to make trouble and make sure Charlotte and Vivian couldn’t go on.” Madge spread a hand. “Who said killers are smart?”
“Wazoo,” Spike said, “could the man you saw with Louis have been Morgan Link?”
She closed her eyes and hummed quietly. “Just a man in a mask.” Her eyes opened wide. “Could be him. About the same size. Might be someone else.”
Vivian didn’t have time for the headache she fought. “A plastic surgeon has to be really good with knives.”
A muffled scream, Wazoo’s, stopped as abruptly as it started.
Spike stared thoughtfully at Wazoo, then said, “You can’t go to Bonine and tell him anything yet. You understand me?”
Wazoo shrugged. “Never can tell what a man will do next. One minute he say if I don’t give myself up, he could be in big trouble. Next minute, he orderin’ me not to do what he said he wanted me to do before.” She threw up her arms and swayed. “Sad, sad, a good-looking man, sexy as they come, and he losin’ his mind. Maybe a devil or two in your brain, sexy man. Maybe we gotta call up some spirits to chase them devils out.”
Spike bent and brought his nose close to Wazoo’s. “And maybe you should start thinkin’ about the possibility that someone could think you know too much. If it should happen that the wrong pair of ears hears about you bein’ a witness to murder, someone with a lot to lose could find out what you know and decide to do some-thin’ about that. So, until our man—or woman—is in custody, you probably won’t be saying a word to a soul.”
Chapter 39
“Looks like you’ll have a fine day for your fete,” Spike said. Vivian drove the Rosebank van and he looked ahead through the windshield. A tissue-thin moon played peekaboo between bands of red and orange clouds trailed across a royal-blue sky.
The fete wasn’t hers, but Vivian let the comment pass. It was late and she was tense. They needed answers but weren’t getting any. Spike’s fear that people might get complacent just in time for another ghastly murder played repeatedly in her brain.
“What are you thinkin’?” Spike asked.
“D’you think Morgan did it?”
“I’m not ruling anyone out, but not likin’ a man isn’t a reason to convict him.”
A big gathering of people at Rosebank, for the kind of bash that was touted as lasting all day and into the night, scared Vivian sick. Anything could happen…or nothing. She locked her elbows and her palms were sweaty on the wheel.
“I take it you don’t care if the weather’s fine tomorrow,” Spike said.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to ignore that. I’ve got a lot on my mind, just like you, and I’m worried something could go wrong tomorrow.”
He rubbed the back of her neck and leaned to kiss her cheek. “I’m not going to lie and say you don’t have a thing to be worried about, but I think we’ll have things covered as best we can with a bunch of guys who don’t represent the law in Iberia.”
“You’re a P.I.,” she reminded him.
“I sure am.” He laughed and she figured he was thinking the P.I. bit sounded weak.
“We haven’t talked about payment.”
The look he gave her ended that line of discussion.
“Cyrus, Joe, Bill and Marc are concerned citizens ready to come to our aid. Deputy Lori has to hold down the fort in Toussaint unfortunately, but I’m going to have a word with Ozaire. He’s an ornery son of a snake, but he’d come through in a pinch. My dad’s tougher than tacks—”
“So am I,” she told him, irritated that he wasn’t mentioning any able-bodied women. “Have a word with Jilly. She’ll be there sellin’ pastries and coffee and if she could give us a hand, she would. She’s no marshmallow.”
Spike shifted and dropped against the back of his seat.
Vivian glanced at him. His eyes were fastened on the roof of the van and from what she could see of his face he was irritated. “What is it, now?” she asked. “Wasn’t I supposed to say we have some women around who could be useful?”
“Of course you were. I had this sudden image of the motley army gathered on the front steps at Rosebank and I admit it was a, well, it was kind of a scary picture.”
She laughed. “You’d feel better if they were all dressed in camouflage and toting machine guns or whatever.”
“Vivian, Vivian.” Ignoring the probability that she’d drive off the road, he got close again and kissed the corner of her mouth. “You’ve got a thing about camouflage. If you want the truth, I’d settle for a Ranger team or a few Navy SEALs. But if I can’t have ’em, I’m satisfied with what I’ve got. And don’t forget that the moment something happened, Big Bad Bonine would mount the attack.”
He experimented with slipping the tip of his tongue between her lips and dragging it slowly along her teeth to see just how badly he could distract her.
Vivian swerved off the road and braked hard, throwing him forward and while he was still grousing about irresponsible driving, she used his ears to anchor his face and kissed him soundly. When she pulled back for air, he was panting.
“Now,” she told him. “You are irresponsible. Quit distracting me. We’re expected at Rosebank.”
He inclined his face so the dashboard lights cast the angles of his face in wicked line and shadow. “Do we have to go?”
Spike
Devol didn’t allow himself to be lighthearted often enough. She smoothed her hands over his chest, smiled when those very nice muscles contracted, and hooked her fingers under his belt. He also had nice muscles there. “You think we should park?” she said.
He rested his forehead on hers and sighed. “I know what I want to do, but it’s not going to happen—right now. Okay, I’ll go, but not willingly.”
They were slow getting to the point where Vivian could drive away again, but they were almost there. She had rolled the windows down a little and within minutes the scent of roses crowded into the vehicle. She wasn’t ready to forget the somber reminders the smell brought but neither could she hate the flowers or their richness.
She drove between the stone gateposts and along the winding alley of giant live oaks decorated with swaying Chinese lanterns. Wazoo must have a well-rehearsed crew at her command. Trailers, trucks and pieces of equipment for tomorrow were parked beside the drive. By tomorrow night a searchlight would be installed to bring more evening revelers. When she and Spike cleared the trees they saw that bunting had already been looped from branches surrounding the front lawns and strands of colored lights shivered in the breeze. Flashlights bobbed and shadowy figures hurried through lantern beams. Work continued.
“Homer and Ozaire are both boilin’ crawfish and word’s out there’ll be a war on to prove whose got the best stuff. They’re barbecuing, too, Mama said.”
“Yeah,” Spike said. He sounded disinterested and when she gave him another glance, she found his entire attention still trained on her. He smiled, probably to show her how sweet and harmless he was. She knew better.
“Here we go,” she said, drawing up in front. “Into the next round. I never know what I’ll find when I go through this front door. When I called Mama I told her that no way should she let Morgan Link in here. She’s going to want to know why.”
“Not a word until I say so,” Spike told her, leaping to the ground and ushering her ahead of him up the front steps. Boxes of soft drinks stood like a fortification along the galleries and behind the soft drinks, barrels of beer had been stacked. He didn’t comment but figured things could get overly cheerful the following day.
Vivian walked into Rosebank with Spike behind her and Boa came as if she had wheels, not legs. That was in the seconds before the wheels turned into wings and four pounds of dog leaped into her arms with enough force to drive her back a step.
“She’s dangerous,” Spike said and Boa scrambled up Vivian’s chest and shoulder until she could glare at him. Vivian called out to her mother.
Charlotte trotted from the kitchens carrying a cordless phone. “You timed that very well. This is Jack Char-bonnet from New Orleans for you, Spike. I didn’t know he was Cyrus’s brother-in-law.” She said to Vivian, “What did you mean about Morgan?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Vivian whispered. “Spike will explain.”
Mama raised her eyebrows and crossed her arms, but the next thing she said was, “Homer and I have had an interesting evening.”
“I surely do remember you, Jack,” Spike said into the receiver. “Vivian and I enjoyed visiting the riverboat.”
“That so,” he said, his brow puckered. “Did your source say he knew who got the payoff?”
Charlotte put her mouth to Vivian’s ear and said, “I told Homer what you found out and we’ve been pineapple hunting. They’re everywhere, and we aren’t the only ones looking for them.”
“Mama, don’t overreact. What I didn’t say on the phone is that Wazoo already admitted searching,” Vivian said. “She told us because she felt guilty. She thinks we’ll get rid of her and she’ll go to prison.” Vivian wanted to listen to Spike’s conversation.
“Wazoo couldn’t have done all the damage we found. It was done in a hurry, too, and they didn’t try to cover up what they’d done. We’ve got damaged furniture everywhere in the north wing. We’re going to have to find that egg. If we thought we needed money before, we need it more than ever now.”
Vivian scratched Boa’s back and got her neck washed in return. “How long ago do you think these other people started poking around?”
“Weeks,” Charlotte said, throwing up her hands. “But how can that be? We’ve barely touched that wing. We’re concentrating on this side.”
“That wouldn’t stop someone working here from going over there,” Vivian pointed out. “Easiest thing in the world. And it means someone else knew about the egg before any of us—before Wazoo. Makes me feel creepy to think about it going on while we’ve been here.”
Vivian saw Spike smile and her breath caught in her throat. He looked straight ahead and at nothing in particular but that bitter smile meant he saw ugly things in his mind. He said, “Thank you, Jack. I owe you. Bye,” and gave the phone back to Charlotte.
Vivian caught the slight shake of his head and figured he didn’t want her to ask any questions yet.
“I’d better get Wendy,” he said.
Homer came down the stairs shaking his head. He’d arrived in time to hear what Spike just said. “She’s sleepin’, finally. Give her some time before you wake her up again.” He addressed Charlotte, “If that’s okay with you.”
Mama didn’t do cool too well. The grin would have given her away even without, “Don’t anyone dare wake up that little angel. We won’t hear of it, will we, Vivian? No, of course not. You see how Vivian and I wouldn’t even allow you to wake that sweet child.”
Homer looked at Charlotte as if she were not only the most admirable of women but definitely the one in charge of what would or would not happen to Wendy.
“I’ll get along home, then,” Homer said to Spike. “I reckon Charlotte will give you a place to stretch out till Wendy wakes up. See you tomorrow.” He swept his hat from a chair by the front door and walked out into the night.
“I need my sleep, too,” Charlotte said with a huge yawn. She pointed a finger at Vivian. “Whatever Wazoo may have done she already feels badly about, so don’t you say another word to her about it. And that goes for you, too,” she told Spike. “You just ask Father Cyrus about forgiveness. She got carried away and now she’s sorry. Now, I’m going to sleep well knowing you’re in the house. Make yourself comfortable wherever you like. Vivian will help you.”
Off she went. Up the stairs with a whole lot of energy for a tired woman.
“Are you thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?” Spike said when the two of them were alone.
“I don’t know what you’re thinking,” Vivian told him, “so how do I know if we’re thinking the same thing?”
He caught hold of her wrist and led her into the small, circular sitting room at the entrance to the south wing.
Boa contrived to all but stand on Vivian’s shoulder, all the better to show her teeth, all the way to her molars, to Spike. Fortunately Boa’s coordination wasn’t great. She put so much energy into baring her teeth that she overbalanced and fell to the floor. Vivian clucked and bent to pick her up but the dog shot away, out of the room, and her dashing feet made a scritch-scratch noise on the stairs. “I hope she doesn’t wake Wendy,” Vivian said.
“Not likely. That child goes out for the count. The Martins are out of circulation.”
Vivian spread her hands. “What do you mean?”
He stood before a black marble fireplace, looking down on more carved pineapples, these with crowns of green enameled leaves. The things were set in straight rows and there must have been fifty of them, each on a separate tile.
“Louis was a smart guy, right?” Spike said.
“Very.”
“Too bad his sons didn’t inherit any of his brains. What interests us most is that they’ve been accused of paying graft. It’s vague, no names, just tips to look around. But they’re in custody for something really stupid.”
Vivian moved beside him and waited.
“They hired some thickheaded parolee to break into Louis’s house—Mrs. Angelica Doby’s house now—and load all the artwork into
a truck. They’d been told the Dobys would be away and the house locked up.”
“But Angelica was there?” Vivian shuddered.
“She was away but the place is loaded with silent alarms. The guy dealt with the obvious stuff but never thought of a whole backup system.” He snorted. “This is a loser I already know. Dante Cornelious. Small-time organized stuff. He was mixed up in a case here last year and the only reason he was paroled after a few months was because everything he set out to pull off, including knocking someone off, backfired.”
“So he broke into Louis’s house, then fingered George and Edward.”
Spike rolled his eyes. “Listen to your language. You’ve been hanging out with the wrong people.”
“Person.” She corrected him. “And you can hope I never say anything worse than fingered. What does this mean?”
He met her eyes and she knew she looked hopeful. “I’m not sure, but I know what I’m praying for. This graft. If the Martin boys paid someone to kill their father it’ll come out now. It wouldn’t make it less ugly but it would mean we’re in the clear.”
“You think that’s it?” she asked.
Spike hesitated long enough before saying “Yeah” to make her doubt he was being honest. She did think he’d like it to be true as much as she would.
“Spike,” she said quietly, holding one of his forearms. “It could be all over. Couldn’t we hold on to that thought? And still be vigilant, of course.”
He smiled at her with the usual effect. Her womb turned liquid warm and her knees didn’t feel too steady. “You’ve got it,” he said. “We’ll hold that thought.”
They looked at each other. Vivian would never tire of seeing Spike and the thought unsettled her a lot. The case would be solved eventually. Then what? She couldn’t quite accept that they’d walk off into the sunset together.
“There’s a room next to mine—I mean, Wendy’s—that you can use,” she told him.
He reached for her other hand and rubbed his thumb back and forth over the knuckles. “Thank you, but I don’t think I’ll be sleeping tonight.”
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