“Oh, I can't think!” She rubbed her forehead again, trying to stop the headache before it got a foothold there. Almost impatiently, she looked for a distraction, spotted the remote, grabbed it and turned on the news. It was a shock to see there, on the screen, the Wizard's daughter.
“Did Vance tell you who hired him to kill your father?” someone was asking her.
“No, but he was going to.” She looked calm, reflective and just the right amount of sad.
“You seem quite sure.”
“I'm a million dollars sure.” Dorothy paused. It felt as if she looked out of the television straight into Vonda's soul. “That's how much I offered him to tell me.”
So that's why Verrol was dead. Vonda sagged back, as anger flared. How could she put him in danger like that? Anger quickly faded to shame. Of course she wanted to know who really killed her father, not just who pulled the trigger. And she'd been willing to let Verrol walk out of prison for that knowledge, with a bucket of money. Instead he was dead. Whoever did this thought he'd silenced Verrol, but he hadn't.
She looked at the letter again. His words were so like him, she could almost hear him saying them. How could he be dead? Dead? Gone. Erased to keep a filthy, little secret about who really wanted the Wizard dead.
What a pitiful reason for taking a life. And the money Verrol had taken to kill? I'm a hypocrite, too. I can forgive Verrol, but not who hired him.
She rubbed her face again, studying Dorothy through her fingers.
In a strange way, they were in the same boat. They both wanted justice. They both wanted the secrets to come out. And the million dollars of “clean” money Dorothy dangled out there as bait? It shamed her, but she had to admit that was part of her justice. It wouldn't be a bad bargain for Dorothy. She'd been going to pay for the information anyway. She'd get her answers, and Vonda would get a ticket to a different life, one away from people who knew her as the “killer's wife.”
She gave a half laugh that broke in the middle. The killer's wife and the wizard's daughter. Sounded like a bad book title.
It was also someone's worst nightmare.
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FIVE
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Luckily Dorothy had a little, formal something in her closet, since Remy hadn't given her much warning about tonight's big do at the Audubon Zoo. Good thing that something was also light and cool, and perfect for the hot, May night. The same shade violet as her eyes, it slinked its way lovingly down her body, finishing in a slight, sassy flare at the ankle. Her shoes looked uncomfortable and weren't, thank goodness, since the party would be ranging all over the zoo, both on the pavement and off. Her hair had been styled to a point of wild abandon, while her make-up gave her a mysterious, almost exotic look. In fact, she looked and felt nothing like herself. The odd part, she didn't mind. Was it because of Remy or just events in general?
He did look smashing. It would be too easy to look adoringly at him, with his stocky frame nicely covered in a well-fitted tuxedo and a sexy, satisfied smile creasing his face. It was getting harder and harder to keep her feet on the ground, so she looked away from him, instead, watching as Titus pulled the SUV into the space indicated by the uniformed cop. A bus would take them to the zoo's entrance, since Titus, in his role as bodyguard, didn't want to let her out of his sight. Around them thronged the beautiful, the not-so-beautiful people, the rich or those who knew someone who could buy them tickets. All of them streamed through the fading light of day toward party zero. As Dorothy joined that stream, it felt as if her world had been reversed, with the unreal relegating real to a minor role.
Around them were tall oak trees dripping with Spanish moss and age, their limbs bent and sweeping the ground as if herding them along. The silken, sultry air slipped across her skin like a lover's caress, but was almost too thick to breathe in and heavily weighted with the scents of a New Orleans night. There was the smell of flowers, of course, and also the richly pungent odor of green stuff, but also the spicy bite of the food awaiting them inside the zoo.
The music from the “do” was too loud for the buzz of insect life to be heard, but they were felt in gentle passes against her face or the occasional diving bite on bare skin. In between beats of music, there was the sound of many voices, punctuated by laughter in a variety of pitches.
There was a festive feel to it all, but it was still an odd sort of party, Dorothy decided. Despite the density of the crowd, they were all strangers, leaving her feeling very alone, even isolated. She could probably count on one hand the people she knew. And one of them was probably a killer. Remy had more acquaintances that he could nod or exchange greetings with, which made her feel disconnected from him, too. Titus was the specter at the feast as he stalked behind her.
It was, she decided, like moving through a very vivid dream. The flash of lights, the chatter of people, the multitude of colors, the distant sounds of the zoo animals, and the ebb and flow of the crowd brought some things into sharp relief and left others blurred or in shadow. There was clarity and confusion warring for dominance, with no clear winner possible.
She knew she was under scrutiny by those in the know, but it wasn't really her they were looking at. All they were seeing was the illusion she'd created in her hotel room this evening. Smoke and mirror effects, bought with Magus's money.
Before returning to Louisiana, she'd gone back to the diner where she and her mother had worked. It had felt as alien as this place did. No one had known her there either. She dangled between two lives, two worlds, trying to find a place to plant her feet and build a life, if she survived her dangerous dance with Remy Mistral and their suspects.
As if her thought made them emerge from out of the crowd, she saw Bozo with a top heavy blonde, then Bubba with his cold fish wife. Beautiful people pretending to do their best to help the Audubon Institute continue their good works in behalf of things beast and growing green. In reality, they were there to have a good time. To dance and drink, to see and be seen.
And if she could be anywhere else right now, where would that be? As if in answer to the question, Remy's grip on her arm tightened, pulling her closer to the lean, hard length of him. The jolt of it plunged her back into the present.
“Show time,” he said, gazing at her with pretended interest as the news people milling around the entrance caught sight of them. It felt like they were hit with a thousand watts of blinding light. She gripped Remy's arm, tried to keep her face as interested and focused on him while they pushed through the awful din of shouted questions. Just when she thought she couldn't take it anymore, they passed through the gates to freedom. She waited while Remy handed over their tickets and received programs in return and then they were in the nighttime zoo.
She'd been here only once before, making a solo appearance for Magus. A daytime, Cajun thing. There'd been special food booths and pockets of music in a variety of styles. Despite the cushion of handlers steering her around, she'd enjoyed it very much. The zoo was beautifully laid out and invited exploration.
This zoo was nothing like that memory. It didn't even seem like the same place, with areas of deep dark surrounding places of brilliant light. Her first, awful thought was how easy it would be to kill someone here. There was too much of everything: people, noise, light and dark. And in the dark, out of sight, wild animals watched them, or at least if felt like they did. Yes, they were caged, but that didn't comfort somehow. All around her, the humid air throbbed with the emotions of the excited crowd.
At her side, Remy stopped to consult the map in the program. “Looks like the closest food area is this way. You snooze, you lose if you don't eat early and often. You hungry?”
He'd been looking around, his gaze alert and interested, but now he was staring right at her. For a moment, it felt like she zoomed in from some distant place, arriving intensely aware of everything, but mostly him. And the sharp bite of hunger, kicked up by the luscious smell of food.
She
nodded. “Yeah, I'm hungry.”
It was a short walk along a lighted path. Dorothy kept looking past the light, trying to pierce the intense dark and being defeated by it. At first she thought it was distant thunder, growing closer, but as they emerged into a circle of light and food, she realized it was voices. Hundreds of voices, some bright, some frantic, all intense and all rising in a vain attempt to be heard.
Around the circle were tables, each area defined by a particular chef from famous local restaurants, each serving up petite portions of their signature dishes. Across from them, Dorothy saw a chafing dish of Bananas Foster flare up against the dark sky before fading back into the silver chafing dish.
Without conscious decision, they moved into a line and were soon blending the tastes of jambalaya, tender steak, and a variety of seafood dishes. The tastes and smells were as heady as the setting. As she spooned up frosty ice cream topped with the Bananas Foster, she watched Remy meet and greet a couple. Their words were lost in the din, but when their gazes flicked her way, it wasn't hard to figure out the subject. She smiled and moved to join them. She never heard their names or what they said to her, but she shook hands and smiled, nodding agreement to who knew what.
With Remy's hand warm against her back, she let herself be steered out of the bright circle to another lighted path. “What did I just agree to?” she asked with her mouth against his ear..
Remy chuckled. “Nothing important. We're doing good. After tonight, the rumors will be flying. Won't be surprised if we're secretly married by morning.”
He consulted a map. “The tents are this way.” He steered her past a sign that pointed to the snake house. “And the dancing, if you're up for it.”
It was only now, when they were clear of the crowd that she again became aware of Titus following behind them. Dorothy looked back. “I hope you tried some of the food.”
He pretended he hadn't heard, as his gaze swept from side to side. “This place is a security nightmare.”
“You'd be in a better mood if you'd eaten something.” Dorothy felt her tension level ease as his kicked up a notch. Now they emerged into another area of lights, but this one was characterized by tent-like booths in long rows. Each one had tables inside the tented area, food and drinks set up and portable toilets in the rear and with the name of the sponsor printed on a banner swathed around the base. As they made their way along the rows, searching for the one sponsored by Remy's radio station, Dorothy saw Bozo and Bubba again, in separate booths kitty-corner from each other. They seemed to be taking care not to look at each other as they went through the political meet-and-greet with anyone they could get a hold of.
Beside her, Remy tensed. “Barnes.”
His tone caught her attention. He nodded at a short, stocky man with very little hair. The man's expression hovered between cynicism and interest, the interest directed at her, or so it appeared. He gave Remy an expectant look. After a short hesitation, Remy obliged.
“Dorothy, this is Clinton Barnes.”
Dorothy held out her hand. “I've seen you before, haven't I?”
“He was Vance's attorney,” Remy said.
“Oh.” Dorothy's jaw slackened and she pulled herself together. She shook the hand he extended toward her and felt the scrape of paper against her palm. When he released her hand, the paper was still wedged between her index finger and her thumb. Dorothy clutched the scrap, trying not to show her surprise. “I'm sorry about your client.”
“Do you really think he was going to talk?” he asked. “I never could convince him to, not even to reduce his sentence.”
Dorothy shrugged. “It seemed to me he was going to. Obviously someone else agreed. I guess he never told you?”
Barnes shook his head, but his eyes told her he knew something. “It was nice to meet you. I liked your father and was very sorry about what happened.”
“Thank you.”
He moved off and Dorothy turned to look at Remy. “That was interesting.”
“Yes,” he said, but something happened when their gazes connected, that diverted her attention from Barnes. Heat began to build, a delicious heat, that should have been uncomfortable when the hot night was already a factor, but somehow wasn't. Her surroundings moved away, leaving her alone with Remy for a brief moment and then she felt someone look at her. It was like being touched with ice. It traced down her back, turning her body leaden and afraid. With an effort, she managed to keep her face from changing, but she couldn't stop herself from stiffening. Remy noticed, his gaze tracking past her to scan the crowd, until he too stiffened.
“It's Darius Smith,” he murmured, his lips close to her ear so she could hear him. His breath was warm and comforting, but not enough against the icy blast that emanated from Smith. “Number three on our list of suspects.”
Dorothy drew a sharp deep breath as Smith approached. His gaze was an icy blow, but with something else at its heart, something that made her uneasy and feeling exposed.
He must have been around before, but she didn't remember him at all, which seemed odd now. What she knew about him came from Magus's file on him, which was very little. It was a spare recital of facts and figures, as chilly and remote as Smith himself. It was the first time he'd left her unprepared. She wondered why, as Darius approached them, tall and cadaverously thin, but with a panther-like grace and menace. Because she felt like a staked out doe, she lifted her chin and stood her mental ground.
He stopped in front of Dorothy, something in his stance tacitly shutting Remy out of the conversation. The air was dark and hot, but she still felt cold, a cold so deep if felt like she'd never be warm again. His gaze plowed into hers, as if taking an answer to a question she didn't want to know, let alone acknowledge. Her throat dried to parchment and her whole body seemed to go numb with shock from the mental assault. She couldn't feel Remy gripping her arm anymore. She couldn't feel the ground under her feet. There were just those icy, blue eyes and the roaring in her ears that sounded like glaciers wrenching lose to crash into the depths of the sea. It took enormous effort to lift her brows in haughty inquiry.
The thin lips curved in a humorless smile. “Darius Smith. I knew your parents.”
Something unwholesome flickered hot, but brief in his eyes. He took her hand before she could react and lifted it to press a cold, but lingering kiss on the back. Ice spread from the spot, but there was an unwholesome heat at its core, like a stealth bomb finding its target. It refused to let her be indifferent to him and she hated it and hated his obvious satisfaction. His vaguely animal scent spread out like an oil slick into the air around her. It wasn't cologne. It was the man. It was a direct contrast to the obscenely expensive suit he wore with casual grace.
His hands reminded her of spiders, the fingers were long and thin, but devoid of color and dead looking. His touch transmitted no warmth from contact.
“You have the...look of your mother. She was an interesting woman.” The pale, pink tip of his tongue traced around his mouth, as if remembering something tasty. His tone was coolly intimate.
It was like being licked by a reptile. The words were innocuous on the surface, but slimy nonetheless and his eyes stripped with insolent detachment. After her meeting with Bozo, she should be through with shock, but she wasn't. What on earth could this man, or Bozo for that matter, have found interesting about her oh, so practical, down-to-earth mother? It was like finding out that sun had really been rising in the West or that Jupiter, not the moon, orbited earth.
He studied her thoughtfully for a brief eternity, before flicking a contemptuous look in Remy's direction. To her surprise, Remy seemed unfazed by Smith. Dorothy felt violated and angry—and even more estranged from her memories of her mother. Maybe ignorance really was bliss after all.
“So, Mistral, you think to blow your way into the mansion?” Somehow Smith managed to make it both question and insult, with his phrasing and the hint of incredulity.
Remy grinned. “I'm guessing I won't be collecting you
r endorsement. Who will you be backing this time?”
“Always the reporter. That's the first thing you'll need to change,” Smith said, his cool voice sneering.
“You're still better at giving advice than answering questions. Oh well, I think I can guess. You've been grooming that protege of yours for years. A pity no one likes him but you.”
Smith's thin lips twitched. The only indication that Remy's shot may have hit home. His gaze shifted back to Dorothy.
“Politics are a nasty business. I hope you'll be wiser than Mistral?”
The statement was mildly delivered, but still managed to sound like a threat.
“I'm my father's daughter, too, sir.”
That seemed to amuse him as well. “Are you? Well, we'll see.”
After another period of probing appraisal, he left them, slithering off into the crowd. He didn't need to touch anyone or speak. People seemed happy to clear a path for him.
“That is one creepy guy.” Dorothy shivered. “Do you like him for hiring Vance?”
Dorothy did. In spades.
Remy shrugged. “He likes to sound spooky, but I've never heard of him doing worse than the occasional career kill. He's careful, maybe too careful for final solutions. “
Had the undercurrents of what Smith said really gone right past him, she wondered? Maybe it was a female thing. She felt like she needed a long bath to be clean again. And maybe a mind purge to get the picture of him with her mother out of her head. There was no way to reconcile that image with the one of her mother, worn and gray waiting tables with an expression of bored interest. The one thing Dorothy had always been sure about was that her mother didn't like men. Not any more. Her whole focus and drive had been survival from as early as Dorothy could remember.
A Dangerous Dance Page 6