Stranger, Seducer, Protector

by Joanna Wayne

  “Victoria Villaré was not only heroic, she was the first one buried here,” Jacinth announced. “This must have been built in her honor. But there are over fifteen names here. Does that mean that every one of the fifteen—except my father whose body was never found—were buried inside this one tomb?”

  “That’s usually what it means.”

  “Surely, there’s not room for that many coffins in the wall vaults.”

  “Probably not, but families can choose to incorporate a kind of revolving coffin system. Dump the old, make way for the new—or rather the newly dead.”

  “Is that legal?”

  “It’s fully approved and not as callous as it sounds. The dead have never complained.”

  “Still, poor Victoria. It’s her tomb and she was probably evicted years ago.”

  “Victoria’s fame may have exempted her from the rotation.”

  “Is there some kind of order to who gets expelled from the vaults?”

  “More or less. When someone new dies, they normally move the oldest bones to a fancy body bag and fit that into the back or sides of the vault. The old coffin is destroyed and the coffin holding the newest addition replaces it.”

  “I guess that makes sense when you think about it. According to the dates on the family tombstone, Marie is the latest addition and the only one added since my father. There’s no one named Luther.”

  “There’s no law that says you have to be buried with your ancestors.”

  “I know, but Luther’s name wasn’t in the Bible, either. And there were no other spouses listed for Nathanial or Marie so I don’t see how he could be a stepson.”

  Nick had to watch what he said here. Say too much and he’d blow his cover before he was ready. Or he could just come out with the truth and destroy his best chance of clearing his father’s name before the cancer he was fighting delivered an early death sentence.

  “What else did you learn from the family tree?” he asked, changing the subject.

  “That Marie had a daughter several years before she gave birth to my father. Tabatha Ruth. She only lived a few months. Her name is on the crypt tombstone, too. Hers must have been a tiny coffin.”

  A booming clap of thunder and a gust of cold wind pushed some much needed fresh air into the tomb. “Sounds as if the next howling thunderstorm is about to hit,” Nick said.

  “We should go.” Jacinth trailed her fingers over her father’s name one last time and then briefly bowed her head. Nick stepped outside to wait.

  “There is one more thing,” she said as she joined him. “It’s the real reason I felt compelled to come to the cemetery today.”

  Now they were getting somewhere. “What is it?”

  “Marie and Nathanial Villaré were not only man and wife, they were brother and sister, both having the same mother and father.”

  That was news. Odd that this fact had remained secret through a long and drawn-out murder trial. But then Nick was convinced that a lot of facts had been swept under the rug. Like evidence that had allowed the real killer to go free.

  A bolt of lightning struck much too close, the electricity shooting a straight path from sky to ground.

  “We’d best make a run for it,” Jacinth said, her gaze fixed on the darkening sky.

  “Let’s stick with a fast walk. I don’t want to spend the rest of the day doctoring your scratches.”

  She punched him in the arm and took off, striding at a pace almost equal to his normal jog. He hurried to catch up with her as the rain began to pelt them. By the time they reached the front gate, they were both drenched.

  “Your car’s closer,” Nick said. “Why don’t I drive it home and come back for my truck later, when the deluge has passed?”

  “Deal. I don’t drive well in monsoons.”

  She handed him the key just before they jumped the curb-high river and sprinted across the street.

  “That will teach you to sneak around and follow me,” she said, once they were inside the dry car.

  He started to respond, quip for quip, but when he turned to face her, the words flew right out of his mind. She’d yanked off the rain hat. Water dripped from her dark hair and the tip of her perfect nose. In spite of all she’d been through the past two days, her dark eyes still sparkled. Her teasing smile wrapped around him like an open fire on a frigid night.

  He’d told the truth about one thing. He didn’t want to spend the afternoon smearing her with antiseptic. He wanted to spend it in her arms, making love.

  He leaned over, slipped his arm around her and kissed her. Wet, wild, wonton. Forbidden fruit for all the right and wrong reasons.

  He’d never wanted a woman more.

  THIS KISS TOOK JACINTH by complete surprise. Her body reacted with a slow burn that crept deep inside her. Forgetting everything but the here and now, she gave in to her ravenous hunger for Nick.

  He cradled her head in his hand, his fingers tangling in her wet hair while his tongue explored the crevices of her mouth. When he finally pulled away, her kiss-swollen lips ached for more.

  She took a deep breath and tried to make sense of her all-consuming desire for a man she barely knew.

  Nick started the engine and switched the air controls to defrost.

  “What brought that on?” she asked, genuinely puzzled.

  “The fog on the windows or the kiss?”

  “The kiss. I could have sworn you were irritated with me back at the crypt. You seemed distant at best and then all of a sudden you’re acting as if you’re starving and I’m dinner.”

  “I have this thing about women who look like drowned rats,” he teased. “Guess I should have warned you.”

  “No joking your way around the subject this time, Nick. You go to all the trouble to follow me in the rain, supposedly to offer protection, which you do. Then you deliberately try to annoy me with uncalled-for comments about my father’s killer.”

  “You were the one who got irritated. I was just stating facts.”

  “Unnecessary, exasperating facts that were obviously meant to annoy me. And then the next thing I know you’re kissing me senseless.”

  “The kiss wasn’t planned.”

  “I’m not complaining, and I’m certainly not looking for any level of commitment. I just want to know what’s going on. Are you genuinely attracted to me or playing some stupid game where only you know the rules?”

  “Jacinth, there’s not a man alive who wouldn’t find you attractive.”

  “That’s a cop-out, not an answer.”

  “Okay. In case you actually can’t tell from that kiss, I’m attracted to you. More than attracted. But you’ve got a lot on your plate right now. Falling body parts. A police investigation. A mysterious past you’re trying to get a handle on. In my book, that makes you exceedingly vulnerable, and I don’t like the idea of taking advantage of you.”

  He’d been honest. She owed him the same in return. She rested a hand on his thigh and felt his muscles tighten beneath his jeans.

  “For the record, Nick, I’m extremely attracted to you, as well. But feeling this strongly about someone I’ve just met is completely out of character for me. Frankly, it scares the living daylights out of me.”

  “So we agree to go slow?”

  “Agreed,” she said.

  But they both knew the promise was only words. Even now she felt desire burning hot inside her and she knew they’d make love. It was just a matter of time.

  “Now that we’ve got passion and the possibility of hot sex out of the way, how about lunch?” Nick asked, reverting to teasing the way he always did when the conversation got sticky.

  “Great. I’m starved,” she agreed, “but I don’t relish the idea of getting drenched again.”

  “We won’t have to. I know this funky drive-through sandwich shop that has some of the best oyster po’ boys in town. Tell me you eat oysters, Yankee-bred girl.”

  “As long as they’re not raw. I don’t like things sliding unaided down my throa
t.”

  “We’ll work on that.”

  In less than five minutes, they were sitting at the microphone ordering their late lunch. She had hers dressed, a term she’d never heard used for sandwiches before she’d arrived in the Crescent City. It only meant the sandwich came with lettuce, tomatoes, onions and mayonnaise. Lots of mayonnaise. New Orleaneans liked their mayonnaise almost as much as they liked their Tabasco sauce.

  When they were handed their order, Nick pulled into a parking space. It was still raining, but not as fiercely as it had been when they’d raced from the cemetery.

  True to Nick’s word, the po’ boys were perfection. Wiping her mouth after every juicy bite, she managed to lose only one crispy oyster from between the crusty slices of French bread.

  It fell to the seat between them. Nick rescued the fried morsel before she could pick it up and drop it into the empty bag.

  “Twenty-second rule,” he said, tossing it into his mouth.

  “There’s no such rule.”

  “Sure there is.” He dabbed a dot of mayo from his lips. “As long as you pick it up in twenty seconds, it’s still germ-free. And that oyster was too good to waste.”

  The rain slowed and finally stopped. Nick lowered the window, letting in some fresh air as he chewed his last bite. Jacinth had just started on her second half, but she was already getting full.

  “When do you think we’ll know something about Carrie?” she asked.

  “I can tell you a little about her now.”

  He spouted information as if it were a memorized sales pitch. She was amazed at how much he’d learned in one morning. “You didn’t mention an address.”

  He supplied that, as well.

  “I have a student who lives in Westwego,” she said. “Where is that exactly in relation to where we are now?”

  “Across the Crescent City Connection, but less than an hour from here with just Sunday traffic to contend with.”

  She glanced at her watch—3:44. Not nearly as late as she’d thought. They could drop Nick off at his truck now that it wasn’t pouring, drive home, shower and dress and still make it Carrie’s house by seven at the latest.

  It was a lot to squeeze into one day and it would leave Jacinth with little time to prepare for her morning class. But if she didn’t go tonight, it might be days before she could get there.

  So all she had to do was talk her protective private detective into a Sunday night road trip—one that wouldn’t end with kisses. Unless…

  CARRIE SAW THE LIGHTS of the pickup truck when it pulled into her driveway. Probably some lost fool turning around. She wasn’t expecting company.

  Only the truck didn’t leave.

  She walked to the window and pushed the blinds aside for a better look. A string of curses flitted through her mind as she watched Jacinth Villaré step out of the truck in her nice black slacks and soft purple sweater. Her thick, dark hair fell past her shoulders.

  Impulsively, Carrie raked her fingers through her hair and jerked her tight yellow T-shirt down over her exposed abdomen. She might not be as classy and as pretty as Jacinth, but even at her age she still looked good.

  Carrie didn’t recognize the man with Jacinth, but he had a cop swagger and he reeked of authority. Bring it on, copper. You got nothing on me.

  Oops. He could have if she wasn’t careful. She dashed to her bedroom as the doorbell announced their arrival, grabbed her meager stash of marijuana and slid it between her mattress and box spring.

  Then she sauntered back to the living room, flicked off the TV and smiled sweetly as she opened the door. She should make a stab at being gracious. After all, she and Jacinth Villaré were practically kin.

  Chapter Six

  Nick regretted his change of heart in bringing Jacinth along the minute he stepped through Carrie Marks’s door. The scent of marijuana hung in the air along with a stench that suggested the kitchen garbage hadn’t been carried out for days.

  His gut feeling was that Carrie Marks was bad news and most of the time his first instincts were right on target.

  Tonight he was to be Nick, friendly neighbor, with no mention of his last name. Better Carrie Marks didn’t know he was a private detective. If she bothered to check, though, “Nick Bruno, Private Detective” was listed right there in her yellow pages. Right now, he wasn’t even getting a notice.

  “I’ve been dying to meet you, Jacinth,” Carrie gushed. “I’ve started to drop by and introduce myself at least a dozen times.”

  “You should have,” Jacinth said. “But better to call first. I work unpredictable hours.”

  “Not me, I’m same old, same old, day after day. Start at dawn, but finish early. School cafeteria hours. I go to bed at nine most nights.”

  “We won’t keep you long, but I’d really appreciate it if we could talk for a few minutes. I understand you knew my grandmother fairly well and she’s a total mystery to me.”

  “You drove all the way out here on Sunday night to talk about Marie?”

  “Her and Luther,” Jacinth added. “I had no idea until yesterday that my father had a half brother.”

  “Wow. You have been kept in the dark. How did you hear about me or Luther?”

  “From my neighbor, Gladys Findley. She mentioned how you had been a friend to Marie right up until she died.”

  “I did what I could since she didn’t have family around. Luther always wondered why your mother snubbed the entire Villaré family after her husband was murdered.”

  “I’m sure she had her reasons for what she did,” Jacinth said, her tone instantly defensive.

  “You know her better than me,” Carrie said with a shrug. “Come on in and have a seat. Just toss those magazines to the floor.”

  Nick picked up the magazines, noting titles as he did. Two copies of Sports Illustrated, one copy of a motorbike magazine, one on NASCAR racing and a couple of celeb fanzines.

  Carrie grabbed a half-eaten bag of chips, a carton of dip and a couple of beer cans from the coffee table. “Let me clear this out of the way and I’ll be right back.”

  “Take your time,” Nick said.

  “Can I get you two a beer or something?”

  They both declined. Nick motioned Jacinth to the space he’d just cleared on the sofa and then scooted in beside her.

  “She’s friendly,” Jacinth whispered.

  With a figure she didn’t get from beer, chips and dip. Someone was either still here or had just left. Likely a guy, judging from the reading material.

  “Don’t forget that we’re here to ask questions, not answer them,” Nick whispered.

  “You mean like my talking about my mother?”

  “Right.”

  “Got it.”

  Carrie rejoined them, settling into a chair with the same mustard-colored tweed upholstery as the couch. “How do you like living in the dilapidated morgue, as Luther used to refer to it?”

  “Why would he say that?”

  “He complained that all those portraits of deceased Villarés on the wall made the place seem like a shrine to the dead. He was always teasing Marie about her dedication to preserving history.”

  “The only portrait on the wall now is the life-size one of Victoria Villaré that hangs at the top of the landing,” Jacinth said.

  “Then someone must have taken them down after Marie moved into the nursing home. She would have never let them be moved while she was there to stop it.”

  “Do you have any idea who might have taken them?” Nick asked.

  “Probably one of the greedy lawyers who probated Marie’s estate,” Carrie said angrily.

  “Why take someone else’s relatives home with you?”

  “Marie made it a point to tell everybody that three of the portraits were museum quality, painted by a famous French artist back when the family still had money.”

  “I’d love to see those portraits,” Jacinth said.

  “You wouldn’t be impressed. The heads were too big and looked like they we
re stuck on statues. I told Marie after Luther died that she should sell them and all that antique furniture and move in one of those fancy retirement homes where they cook all your meals for you. She wouldn’t hear of it. She cared more about all those antiques than she cared about herself.”

  “The house was her legacy,” Jacinth said.

  “If the paintings were valuable works of art, they must have been insured,” Nick said. He made a mental note to check into that later.

  “You never know,” Carrie said with a shrug. “They might have been worthless. Luther claimed his stepmother had delusions of past grandeur. You know, like the Villarés were royalty or something.

  “She was a good person, though,” Carrie added quickly. “When Luther told her we were getting married, she gave me a beautiful silver filigreed brooch with a sapphire-colored stone to welcome me into the family. She said it was a family heirloom.”

  “I’d love to see it,” Jacinth said.

  “I don’t have it anymore. It was pretty but not my style. Luther took it to the pawnshop and got me fifty dollars for it.”

  “It’s the thought that counts.”

  “That’s what I said to Luther. Marie could be generous when she wanted to be. You know, now that I think about it, when Marie realized she was dying, she probably gave away those portraits.”

  That would have been an abrupt change of conviction, considering Carrie had just said Marie would never part with the paintings.

  “So what do you want to know about Marie?” Carrie asked, obviously ready to drop the missing portraits speculation.

  “Anything that would help me gain a better understanding of her. Her likes, dislikes, personality traits. Whatever stands out in your mind when you think of her.”

  Carrie curled her bare feet into the chair under her. “When I first met Marie, she reminded me of a queen living in her castle. She even dressed for dinner. And I never saw her without her hair styled and her makeup on.”

  “Did she have friends over?”

  “I suppose, but she never talked about them to me. She was very cold and formal with me when we first met. I had the feeling she thought I wasn’t good enough to marry her stepson.”