Cypress Nights

by Stella Cameron

  “How did he seem?” Spike asked. “Anything unusual about his behavior?”

  She shook her head. “He was his usual sweet self.”

  “He didn’t mention any plans for later in the evening?”

  Kate bristled. “What are you suggestin’, Sheriff?”

  He sighed. “These are routine questions. They don’t mean anything but what they say.”

  “No, then. Jim always came home after he’d been at St. Cecil’s.” Kate raised her chin.

  “So after he left you yesterday lunchtime, you never saw him again?”

  Tears popped into Kate’s eyes, and ran down her cheeks. “So cruel,” she said. “So harsh. I don’t need you to squeeze my heart for me.”

  She meant he was cruel and harsh?

  Exasperated, Spike said, “Would you feel better if you had a friend with you, Kate? Someone you trust.”

  “I’ve lost the people I trust. Lil Dupre was a good friend but now I know she’s as bad as the others and that husband of hers is nothin’ less than evil.”

  Spike let those comments pass. “Do you think you can manage talking to me for a few minutes? We can always do this at the station if you’d feel better there. Neutral ground can be helpful.”

  Kate flashed her palms. “The idea. The police station? I will not go there, not under any circumstances. I can just hear the tongues waggin’ over that. Only it’s not goin’ to happen, Sheriff.”

  Spike propped one booted foot on the opposite knee and put his hat on top. He settled back, deliberately making himself comfortable. “I don’t blame you. I just wanted to make the offer. I came on my own, because I thought we could have a friendly little chat. Nothin’ too official.”

  She opened a pink lace fan and fluttered it rapidly before her face. “Thank you. You’re very kind.”

  “Would it be all right if I took a few notes?” Spike asked, trying not to tense visibly.

  “I suppose so. If you want to.”

  He slipped his book from a breast pocket and slid out a pen. “Now. Jim was home for a bit yesterday, because you wanted him to check mold on one of your trees.”

  “He surely was. Just as well. George was goin’ to spray the wrong stuff.”

  “Then, Jim left and you went about your business. Did you go out in the afternoon, Kate?”

  “I never go out when it’s so hot.”

  “So you were here all afternoon?”

  “That’s what I said. And all evenin’, although there will be those who are disappointed by that.”

  He gave her a questioning stare. “Disappointed?”

  “Don’t ask me how they think I would do such a horrible thing, but—” she let out a shuddering sigh “—but you know it’s been said I wanted Jim to die. Can you imagine that?” Her voice climbed the scale and shook. She cried without attempting to hide the tears.

  Spike looked around for tissues, but Kate produced a white handkerchief with lace edging and dabbed her eyes.

  “Why would anyone say such a thing?” he said.

  “Because Jim insisted on leaving everything he had to me. I told him I didn’t want that, but he wouldn’t hear of anythin’ else. He said that with him bein’ so much older, he’d rest better when his time came if he could be sure I was taken care of.”

  “I see.” What, Spike wondered, would a man see in a vapid, selfish woman like Kate Harper. “So you’re going to inherit Jim’s estate.”

  He thought her eyes hardened just a little. “Yes. Everything. And that Ozaire Dupre, nasty, avaricious man that he is, can’t stand it. He spends his life lookin’ for schemes to make money, and I just stay quiet and unassumin’ and money comes to me. He’s jealous, so he’s suggestin’ these vile things.”

  Spike looked at the top of his hat. He needed a new one but the old one was worn-in now. Kate couldn’t have sent a knife through Zachary’s neck. No way. But if he wanted to get cold about it, she did have a motive, the only logical motive he’d come up with so far.

  “Well,” he said. “We’ll keep on doin’ our job. We’ll get the killer. Of course, if he doesn’t kill again it’ll make the case easier in a way, won’t it?”

  She pinched her lips together and narrowed her eyes. “How would that be, Sheriff?”

  “We’ll know this was all about getting rid of Jim, and we won’t be lookin’ for a serial killer. That’ll narrow things down.” He deliberately let his gaze slide away from hers.

  “If that isn’t the way things always go in this world,” Kate said. She jumped up and stood with her hands on her hips. “It’s a man’s world, right, Sheriff? If you can make it look like I killed him for his money, you will. Anythin’ rather than go after one of the boys you hang out with in town. Men stick together. Well, there isn’t enough money in this world to make me want to be without my Jim. You just remember that.”

  Spike also stood and went closer. “It’s not that way at all, Kate.” He started to put a hand on her shoulder, but she turned away.

  “You’re missin’ things right under your nose,” she said, swaying, swinging her skirts back and forth. “I’m not goin’ to be like some people, but I can tell you I’m not the one you should be lookin’ at. Someone else in this town’s got plenty of reason to make sure no one looks too close, but you haven’t even thought about him.”

  Spike took a breath through his nose. “Who would that be?”

  “That would be purely conjecture on my part, and I won’t be party to spreading gossip. But you better think about why Jim died—and it wasn’t because I wanted his money.” She spat the last words out.

  “It looks as if it’s got something to do with the new school.”

  “There isn’t a new school,” she snapped back.

  “The one they intend to built at St. Cecil’s.”

  She didn’t answer at once.

  “I know what I’m pretty sure of,” Kate said after a pause. “Someone’s got a reason to want that school stopped, and it’s nothin’ to do with money. Think about that. Why wouldn’t they want that school, hmm? Then think back to anythin’ else unusual that’s happened. Somethin’ you never figured out, maybe.”

  “If you know something, it’s your duty—”

  “It’s my duty not to say anythin’ unless I’m sure. I’m not, but it makes sense. You go back over situations you never got to the bottom of, Sheriff. Could be you need to do some serious diggin’.”

  Chapter 6

  Later still, the same morning

  Finally Bleu was home—but not alone.

  Roche jogged around his BMW and met her before she could climb out.

  Her own car was in the carport, driven there by Madge with help from Sam Bush.

  Roche bent down to look at Bleu.

  She got the full effect of his vivid blue eyes.

  “Are you sleeping?” he said.

  Bleu let out a breath. “I was thinking,” she said. “But I might be able to sleep with my eyes open. At least this morning.”

  “I’d better get you inside, and make sure you’re okay.”

  She wasn’t okay, not as long as he hovered over her, so close she wouldn’t have to move to touch him. Another very deep breath didn’t help much.

  Now, she had to tell him he wouldn’t be coming in or making sure she was okay. She still couldn’t imagine why, out of all the women he must meet, he seemed determined to make her one of his conquests.

  That was a mean thought. As soon as he’d shown interest, she had encouraged him, and he probably had no idea about the fears that never completely left her.

  Roche held out a hand and said, “Hold on and I’ll pull you up,” which he did. “Holy…You don’t need much of a pull.”

  “Wait till breakfast settles on my hips.” She said the darndest things when she was rattled.

  He gave her a quizzical stare and stepped back to look her up and down. “Okay, if you say so.” The slight shake of his head wasn’t subtle enough to be missed. “Do you want to get the stuff o
ut of your car?”

  She had forgotten all about the work she’d left there. “I’ll do that,” she said. “But you don’t need to waste any more time with me. I’m great now.”

  He didn’t move, while she went into the carport and pulled on the door handle of the Honda. It slipped painfully from her fingers, bent one of her nails back. She sucked in air and flapped her throbbing hand. Madge would never leave someone’s car unlocked and she hadn’t this time.

  “You okay?” Roche said.

  “Ow, ow, ow.”

  “You’re not okay?”

  “I’m stupid. I do everything in a rush and end up hurting myself.” The darn nail felt awful. “I guess I earned my reputation for being a klutz.”

  She kept pressure on her nail bed and glanced at Roche. Now what had she said? His face was expressionless, but he studied her so closely she felt hot all over.

  “Give me that,” he said, taking her hand in his and pressing harder than she had. Roche wasn’t holding her hand with a fraction of his strength. If he were angry, or frustrated, he could be formidable. He could crush her if he wanted to.

  Irrational thoughts didn’t strike Bleu often, but when they did, they troubled her deeply.

  “Where are your keys?” He took the strap of her purse from her shoulder and opened the flap for her.

  “Darn it! Last night when we heard Cyrus coming from the rectory, I threw all my things into the car. My keys were on top of the pile.”

  He frowned at her. “So Madge drove here, then what? She locked the car and took them back with her?”

  “Don’t worry about this. I’ll figure out how to get inside the house. Please, I’d feel better if you got on with your day. You’re a busy man.”

  “My assistant is covering for me today. You’ve met Sig Smith? He’s the psychologist who works with me.”

  He’s letting me know he’s cleared his day. “I’ve met Sig,” she said. “He’s a really nice man. Go home and sleep now. Thank you for putting up with me.”

  The way he moved, or rather readjusted his stance, raised the tiny hairs at the back of Bleu’s neck. A subtly wider planting of his feet, his weight shifting slightly onto one leg.

  Her townhouse stood at the far end of Cypress Place and he had made himself more of a barrier between Bleu and the rest of the cul-de-sac. A visual exertion of power.

  Or one more example of her insecurity around men. She was reading something into every move he made, and that wasn’t fair—to either of them.

  But there was a stillness about him, a watchful waiting. Her reaction to him, the intense awareness, gnawed at her.

  “Who lives next door?” he asked, squinting into the sun.

  “Nobody right now. It’s kind of nice.”

  “Kind of remote, you mean.” He glanced around. The townhouses were in a cul-de-sac, but nothing had been built on the access street. Looking at her again, he said, “You’re all on your own out here. I don’t like that.”

  He had no right to like or dislike anything she was or did, yet he gave his opinions as if they should carry weight with her. Did his assumption of power, of having the upper hand, make her feel important to him—or belittled? Her husband had put her down, devalued her—and punished her—all in the name of showing her how weak she was.

  “Bleu?” Roche said. “What are you thinking?”

  “Just that I’m not on my own out here. Reb Girard’s clinic isn’t far away.”

  Dr. Reb took care of general medicine in Toussaint.

  “On Catfish Alley?” Roche said. “Unless you can jump the high fences behind this place, you’d have to run the equivalent of four blocks to get there.”

  Bleu wanted him to go, but wanted him to stay, both at the same time. Some quiet time on her own was essential. “I’m not expecting the enemy to charge in right now.”

  He didn’t respond, just watched her face with those quiet eyes. He also continued to stand, unmoving, a solid flesh-and-blood barrier to her moving around as she pleased.

  She was being fanciful, and she couldn’t stand wimpy, fanciful women.

  Her cell was in her bag and Bleu needed a diversion. She dialed the rectory and got Madge who asked Bleu to wait.

  After a long pause when Bleu would have sworn Madge covered the mouthpiece at her end, she came back on and said, “Sorry about that. Just the things you’d expect after what’s happened over here. Give me another second.”

  Another pause followed, while Bleu carefully avoided looking at Roche’s face. Instead, she followed the long, muscular lines of his legs inside well-washed jeans, faded at the knee, the pockets and over the part that stretched tight enough to show his metal zipper. A damp rush heated her up all over.

  “Bleu?” Madge said.

  “Yes, here,” Bleu said. “Before I come into the office, I want to go over the feedback forms I got last night. I could be pretty late, because I’m only just going to start.”

  “Sounds good. I’ll tell Cyrus.”

  Bleu could hear voices in the background, but didn’t mention the noise. “Thank you for driving my car back. All my papers are in it. Madge, where did you put the keys? My house key’s on that ring, too.”

  Madge groaned. “I was going to hide them there, but they’re in my bag. My car’s in the shop. Sam followed me when I drove yours over, but he’s gone now. It’s okay. What am I thinking? Cyrus will let me use the Impala.”

  Bleu heard a male voice that didn’t belong to Cyrus, and Madge said, “I won’t be able to leave yet.” More male rumble. “I don’t know when I will be able to come.”

  “It’s okay,” Bleu said. “I’ve got plenty to do today. I’ll work on some cost analyses. By this afternoon I’ll be back to normal and I’ll walk over there.”

  The jeans were loose at Roche’s flat belly. They rode a couple of inches beneath his waist and humidity stuck his white shirt to his abs like paint applied on a corrugated metal.

  Bleu moistened her lips.

  Madge started to argue, but Bleu pulled her attention from Roche’s body and cut her off. “Nope, I can get in. No problem. See you later.”

  Bleu put the phone back in her purse. “Thanks for waiting around,” she said to Roche. “Go get some rest. You didn’t sleep any more than I did last night.”

  “Anyone who was ever an intern is used to sleep deprivation. Slave labor and torture at the same time. It’s all part of the initiation into medicine.” He gave her one of his slight smiles and bowed his head. His thick, black curly hair had needed cutting for some time, but Bleu liked it just the way it was.

  She also more than liked the dark shadow of beard on his face. Sexy. She couldn’t look away, or grasp the feelings she was having. He made her want to be excited by him.

  “How will you get inside?” he asked, sizing up her townhouse. “If you say you don’t lock one of the doors, I may turn into a wild man.”

  Startled down to earth—almost—she turned up the corners of her mouth.

  His hands, pushed into his pockets, tested the zipper cruelly.

  “It’s a secret,” she told him, trying for lightness. “If I tell you about it, then I’ll have to kill you.”

  Something like surprise entered his eyes. Did he think she was too serious to come up with a well-worn one-liner?

  “You do have something unlocked, don’t you?” he said. “Or something that’s easy to undo. That won’t cut it anymore. In future, this place has to be real tight.”

  “You’re right,” she told him. “I’ll take care of it right away.”

  “I’ll go get your keys,” he said.

  “No. Thank you anyway. I’ll be ready for a good walk later.”

  He smiled slightly. “I liked kissing you last night.”

  His abrupt comment caught her off guard. Her stomach tightened. But she kept a smile on her face and gave him a little wave. “Thank you, Roche. You’re good for my ego. I hope we’ll see you at the building-fund party. Don’t be surprised if someone sugge
sts you’ll be happier if you give a lot of money away.”

  He raised one eyebrow. “Sounds familiar. I’ll be there. But I’m not leaving you here until I know you’re safe.”

  She opened her mouth to argue, but he shook his head and said, “I mean it. This is as much for me as it is for you—almost. I wouldn’t feel right if I drove away with you standing here.”

  As tired as she was, she could still think as fast as she needed to. “I understand. Once I’m in, I’ll let you know.” She hurried briskly toward the corner of the townhouse.

  The building was on an uphill sloping lot. Although she had only been there a few weeks, on Bleu’s side of a dividing fence there were already signs of new things growing, including some vivid bedding plants. Next door, the ground sprouted only patchy scrub grass.

  She half ran up the slope beside the house and ducked under the gallery on the back of the house. The aluminum stepladder stored there was light and easy to drag out.

  Sweat ran between her shoulder blades.

  It wasn’t so easy to haul the ladder up steps to the gallery and open it beside the door so she could climb up and reach the lintel. Dust fluttered down when she removed her hidden key. This was the first time she’d used it.

  “I wouldn’t need a ladder to get that,” Roche said from behind her.

  Bleu closed her eyes for an instant. “Lucky you. I’m not tall enough.”

  “Are you deliberately obtuse? Where do people usually hide spare door keys? Don’t bother to tell me, I’ll save you the trouble. Over a door. Anyone could get in with that.”

  She grimaced. “Lots of people put their spare key under a flowerpot.”

  “That’s not so funny right now,” he said.

  “No one comes here.”

  “But they could.”

  He was getting angry. Anger was unbearable. “You’re right,” she said, climbing down to the wooden slats of the gallery floor again. “I’ll find a good place for it. One of those magnetic key boxes would be a good idea. I’ll get to it today.”

  Roche folded the stepladder. “Where does this go?”

  “Under the gallery,” she said.

  “Uh-huh—really difficult to find, hmm?”