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TWELVE
* * * *
“Do you look like your sister?” Remy asked Kate as they walked back up to the house.
“People used to think we were twins,” Kate said without looking at him. “Until I started looking like the older sister.”
Remy had never met Emma. He'd been, what, maybe eight when she left town, but he'd seen news footage of her with Magus. Like Dorothy, she wasn't a traditional beauty, but she could fool you into thinking she was by sheer force of personality. That was clear even in those old news reels. If Kate had a strong personality, she was keeping it well hidden. Even her eyes had “no trespassing” signs posted. Despite this, there was something about her that drew the eye and demanded attention. It was as if her attempt to not be interesting somehow made her more interesting. Her still waters ran deep, but what was down there in them?
Dorothy drew ahead of them to confer with one of her staff. Kate watched her, but what she thought about her niece, she kept to herself. Remy stopped, angling his body so she had to stop, too.
“Why are you really here?” He kept his tone neutral, but firm. Remy told himself he was just worried about Dorothy. She was surrounded by people, but none of them, not even Titus, were concerned with her and what she needed. They all needed something from her. For Titus, Remy suspected it was absolution.
She studied him, her curious expression so like Dorothy's for a moment that it was eerie. It was like looking into her future. It wasn't, Remy conceded, half bad. Kate had aged well and even had a hint of sex appeal when she let it peep out from behind her battlements.
“Why are you worried about it?” she asked, as if she were really puzzled.
Remy's gaze narrowed. “I care about her. And I know that the people in her family have pretty much let her down every time she's come close to them.”
Pain flickered in her eyes and he felt a moment's remorse, before reminding himself that however hard, his words were true. Oddly enough, it reassured him that she could feel pain. She wasn't totally iced over.
“So you think I'm here to let her down?”
She was still answering his questions with questions, but he knew how to be patient, too.
“I think your timing is interesting.”
She glanced away, as if considering his words. “I suppose it is. I hadn't really thought about it in that context. I just knew I needed to see her.” She hesitated, then added, more as if she were thinking aloud than talking to him, “My husband didn't want me to come.” She gazed at him again, a wry smile giving her face a fugitive charm. “He doesn't understand either.”
“I'd like to understand. That's why I asked.”
Her expression gentled, but her voice was firm. “It's really none of your business, though. This is between Dorothy and me.”
She left him, walking back to the house without haste, but with unconscious grace. Dorothy watched her walk past. They exchanged words and Kate went inside the house. Only then did Dorothy look at him. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his slacks and walked up to her. There was a question in her eyes.
Remy answered it. “She told me to mind my own business.”
Dorothy grinned. “She obviously doesn't know who she is dealing with.”
“Has she told you why she's really here?”
Dorothy looked down, fidgeting with the decorative button at the neck of her tee shirt. When she glanced up, she seemed rueful—and remarkably like how her aunt had just looked.
“I haven't asked her.” She moved restlessly. “I've had so many questions for so many years and now, finally, there is someone here who can at least answer some of them. And I haven't asked.”
“What are you waiting for?”
She half laughed. “A lightning strike, maybe?”
“The right moment never comes. Carpe diem. You need to seize the day. You don't know how long it will last.” He wanted to seize the moment. He wanted to touch her so bad, the tips of his fingers hurt, but he also knew what would happen if he did. He'd start kissing her again and then he'd just be another person wanting something from her. Right now she needed someone to give her something.
“After your meeting with Bubba Joe, why don't you have her meet you in town, get some supper at one of those little fishing places along the bayou and just talk to her?”
She smiled. “That's a good idea.”
“What, you didn't think I had those?”
She laughed. “Oh, you have them. They just usually aren't so harmless or so sensible.”
“Even I can't be amazing all the time.” His grin was full of sass and he knew it. She knew it, too, but what almost made his heart stop right then was the realization that she liked it. He could tell.
“I guess that depends on your definition of amazing.” Her grin sassed him back.
If she didn't go, he was going to grab her and start kissing again. Maybe she knew that, too. She reached out, almost touched his arm, pulled her hand back, then turned and went into the house.
Remy stood staring at where she'd been until the feeling of being watched penetrated his absorption. He turned and found Titus studying at him. His cold, light gaze was a stone wall to his thoughts, but Remy still felt his hostility, even across the front clearing. He hoped his thoughts were equally clear to the failed bodyguard. He hoped Titus knew that if Remy were in charge, his ass would be fired right now.
Maybe he got it. He turned and strode off toward the garage, presumably to get the car.
He probably shouldn't antagonize him, but the chances of Titus ever taking a bullet for him were a million to one anyway.
* * * *
Bubba Joe knew he had to play the scene carefully or his prey wouldn't play. They'd both be suspicious, on guard. He also knew that Dorothy wouldn't like the memento he had from his encounter with Emma, that once she saw it, she wouldn't want an audience for the rest of their discussion.
He'd made it clear to Juanita, that if she wanted to keep her job, Titus better have a drink with her. He'd taken the precaution of spiking anything they were likely to drink with roofies. He didn't want her hearing any cries for help either.
Then he and Dorothy would have a heart to heart about her slut of a mother. And that the whole world would know Emma was a slut, unless she handed over the evidence against him.
He'd wondered sometimes whether he should get rid of his mementos from his encounters, but part of him had always known he might need them some day, to persuade or dissuade, his partners from being unwise. They were cold, hard proof, both the bits of clothing and the pictures he'd secretly taken.
Dorothy would be more malleable, once she realized what was at stake. More malleable than her mother? Maybe. Emma had been good. He liked it when they fought him, but he couldn't always afford the pleasure. Maybe if Suzanne had had some spunk, he wouldn't have hated her so much. She'd been too cold even to enjoy it.
He should have killed her this afternoon when he felt like it. Then she wouldn't have gotten away from him. She'd been his to keep or kill. Instead, she'd eluded him. Not only that, she'd betrayed him. With another woman. A prostitute. He'd been with Cassandra himself a time or two. Darius had introduced him to her. It made him sick to think of it.
Then another thought occurred to him. What if Darius had introduced Suzanne to Cassandra? Be just like him. He'd think it was funny. He silently cursed Darius, Suzanne and Cassandra, only stopping when he'd run out of expletives.
He stared broodingly at the phone, then snatched it up and dialed Darius's number.
“I know what you did you,” he let loose again, cursing Darius with every word he could think of. When he was tired and panting, he heard Darius ask, “Who is this?”
It was gas to a fire. “You introduced Suzanne to Cassandra. Maybe you even had something to do with her death. You can bet I'll be talking to the cops, Darius. I won't take this lying down.”
He slammed the phone down.
He'd fix him and his little protege, too. No one messed with him or anything that belonged to him. He jumped up, pacing and cursing.
Tonight there was no one to vent his rage on but Dorothy. Her father had been a fool and she was, too. Kind of nice she looked a bit like Emma. Once he found out where she'd put the evidence, they'd replay her family history. If daughter was like mother, he was in for a good time tonight. And when he was done? Well, he still needed someone to play Suzanne's role in his life.
He'd considered slipping her a roofie, too, but he wanted her awake. He wanted her to know who was in charge, he needed her to feel his power over her. Her mother hadn't talked and she wouldn't either. Not if she didn't want the word out on what her mother had been. He knew he hadn't been the only one. He'd give little Dorothy chapter and verse on her mama. Chapter and verse.
He thought he heard a sound outside, so he went to the patio doors and looked out, but didn't see anything. He walked out and leaned against the wall, looking out over the garden. He'd need to hire a housekeeper now that Suzanne was gone. He couldn't be expected to take care of everything. He'd better start a list. He turned with a new sense of purpose and went back inside. He sat down, picked up Emma's black bra and fingered it with a reflective smile, then tossed it aside and picked up his pen. What did he need? Oh yeah. A housekeeper. A campaign manager. What he really needed was a new wife. Maybe Dorothy would oblige? He laughed and wrote her name at the top of the page.
He glanced up and his jaw dropped. “You!”
* * * *
“No matter what he says or does, don't send me away,” Titus cautioned, as he reached around Dorothy to ring the bell. “I've heard...things about him. Rumors he's not beyond using force with women.”
Dorothy nodded, her stomach tightening with tension. There was the sound of someone fumbling with the door and it swung open to reveal a scared maid. She looked like she'd been crying—a reminder that the mistress of the house was dead. What am I doing here, Dorothy wondered. This was wrong. What was Bubba Joe up to?
If her mother had had an affair with this sleaze ball, she wasn't sure what she'd do. It made her skin crawl to even think about it. She felt like she was losing her mother all over again. With each new impression, the mother she'd known grew fainter and fainter. I'm going to lose her and I came back to Louisiana hoping to find her, Dorothy thought bleakly.
“Mr. Henry is expecting me,” Dorothy said, her voice husky with growing dread.
As if he sensed her hesitation, Titus said, “You don't have to do this. Let me talk to him.”
Dorothy shook her head. “You know he won't talk to you.”
“He'll talk to me,” Titus said.
The maid looked from one to the other, puzzled. Dorothy had a feeling she didn't speak much English. She was probably lucky she didn't. Dorothy tried to smile at her.
“I'm so sorry about Mrs. Henry.”
The girl's eyes filled up with tears. “Senior in library.” She pointed down the hall to a closed door. “He say, go in.”
“Gracias,” Dorothy said, expending the sum of her Spanish.
The girl smiled shyly at Titus. “You like drink, senior?”
Titus recoiled. “No, thanks.” He stepped forward, grasping the door knob, turning it and pushing it open. Almost immediately, he recoiled with a muttered curse. He turned, blocking Dorothy and the maid from seeing into the room. “Call the police. Policia,” he told the maid.
“What...” Dorothy looked at him.
“He's dead and it's not pretty.” Titus's face was grim and hard. “Get her to call the police. I'll look around, see what I can see.”
“You can't mess with a crime scene,” she said.
“I won't. I'll just look at it.”
She nodded, then asked, “Was he...murdered?”
Titus shrugged. “It looks like he took his own life. I saw the gun in his hand.”
Dorothy straightened. “I want to look, too.”
“The back of his head is blown away.” He pulled out the car keys. “Go meet your aunt. You didn't see anything. You don't know anything.”
“You have to tell them I was here.”
“I'll take care of it.”
Dorothy hesitated. “You'll tell me what you find?”
“If I have time to look.” He arched his brows.
She nodded, started to leave, but stopped to say in a low voice, “Thanks.”
He touched her shoulder, his face softening. “We'll get this figured out. I promise.”
She managed a smile of thanks for him and then slipped out the door. It was nice that things were back to normal with Titus, but it made her feel guilty. She was using him, his guilt, even when she knew it needed to stop. As she drove away, she dialed Remy's cell phone with the feeling she was betraying Titus again.
* * * *
Bozo saw Dorothy leave Bubba Joe's house without her faithful pit bull, Titus. He considered for a moment before deciding to follow her. He'd hoped to play rescuer and build a bond, but it wasn't to be. If he turned up now, Bubba Joe would suspect he'd been manipulated. That would be a pity. No one liked to see the strings they were dancing to. What had cut their meeting so short? It couldn't be Suzanne's murder. Bubba Joe already knew about that. As he followed her onto the highway, he saw police lights flashing in the distance, but getting steadily closer. He slowed enough to see them turn into Bubba Joe's lane. Now that was interesting. It was, however, less than satisfying. He needed to know what had happened. Had she found out he was behind her father's death? How pedestrian to call in the cops. She lacked her father's flair.
Now she stopped. He watched her enter Pat's, a rustic looking seafood place. It was too dark for him to see her face, but she moved with the unhurried grace of her mother. She was so like Emma, it made him almost nostalgic. A pity he didn't have time to wallow in it. If she wasn't meeting Mistral, which his source told him had only just left Oz, maybe they could have their little talk about her paternity now.
He slipped inside and peered over the divider into the small dining room. Yes, there she was. She wasn't alone, though. They both had menus in front of their faces. He waited until the waitress approached. Almost, yes, the menus were coming down—
No, it couldn't be. Emma was dead. She was older and her hair was gray instead of red, but it was definitely Emma. As if in a trance, he headed for the table. He wanted to tell her...what? That he'd missed her? Well, it was a start.
He stopped by the table. Emma looked up. Violet eyes in a well remembered face studied him without recognition. She couldn't have forgotten him. That just wasn't possible.
“Emma?” he said, playfully rebuking her with look and tone.
Emma looked at Dorothy, puzzled. Dorothy hid a smile.
“This is my aunt Kate,” Dorothy said. “My mother's sister.”
He felt both shock and relief. He'd think about why later. For now, he smiled widely, took her hand and kissed the back of it.
“You are most like your sister. Bozo Luc. I am enchanted to make your acquaintance, mademoiselle?”
“Madame,” Dorothy said. “Very madame.”
He smiled at Kate, still holding her hand. “A very great pity, madame.”
She smiled at him, of course. All women did. He reluctantly released her hand and turned to Dorothy. From the inside pocket of his jacket, he pulled the envelope with the faked paternity test.
“Perhaps later, you'll peruse this and call me, chere'.” He held her gaze with his for as long as she would allow, going for a gentle, paternal look. He could tell he had puzzled her. Good. That was the first step in what he hoped would be an interesting little dance. And a change of partners for her.
She took the letter, appeared to weigh it for a moment before tucking it in her purse. Her gaze considered him, as if she weren't sure she should tell him something. Then she said, “Did you hear about Suzanne Henry?”
“Such a tragedy. I wonder how Bubba Joe is taking it?”
“Not..
.well,” Dorothy said. She exchanged a quick look with Kate. “He's dead.”
Bozo stared at her. His heart may have stopped. He reached for and found the edge of a chair. Dorothy jumped to her feet and grabbed his arm, helping him to sit down.
“I'm sorry, sir. I didn't mean to startle you.”
What she meant was that she didn't know it would startle him. He didn't blame her. He didn't know it would either. So Bubba Joe was dead? He was grateful for the seat and the glass of water she handed him. He took a drink. “Do you know how...”
“Titus found him. He said it looked like a suicide.”
She didn't believe that any more than he did.
“I think I shall miss him,” Bozo said, surprised. “We've been adversaries a long time.” He'd had no idea his goading of Bubba Joe would work so well. Of course, he hadn't known Suzanne would be murdered. Maybe it really was the pressure, but even as the thought formed in his head, he discarded it. Bubba Joe was too selfish to take his own life. No, someone had ended it. It was the only thing that made any sense. Which begged the next question: why? And of course, who?
He gazed at Dorothy, sitting so calmly at the table. If he hadn't seen her arrive and leave, he'd suspect she had something to do with it. Were there, as Darius suspected, other players in the game? Whoever it was, they knew something, but what did they know and what were they after?
If Bubba had hired Vance, then what secret was there left to discover? There was the money, but he didn't see how Bubba Joe could have afforded to pay enough to make it that interesting a figure. It was possible that Bubba Joe had been killed for his romantic excesses, but the timing was interesting if that were the case. Perhaps a coincidence, though Bubba Joe usually took care of his problems before they reached a serious level. A cockroach had been eliminated, but an entertaining one. Yes, he would miss him.
He stood. “I must be off. You've given me much to think about, chere'. You know where to reach me when you're ready to talk.” His motto was, if he couldn't leave them happy, why, then leave them puzzled. After kissing the hands of both women, he made his way out, comforted by the certain knowledge that both of them watched him leave. Ah, he still had it.
A Dangerous Dance Page 16