by Wendy Rosnau
“There’s more there than just simple sleeping pills. A complete pharmacy from A to Z.”
“I used to go to a shrink. He had me on some antidepressants. A whole bunch of crap. I’m through with that.”
“Then why do you still have it around?”
“So I don’t forget how low a man can sink,” Ry answered bitterly. He sat up, then slowly tried to stand. Dizzy, he swayed into Jackson’s waiting arms. “You should have tried to wake me earlier,” he grumbled.
“I did. Once at seven-thirty this morning when I got here, then again at nine. I gave up around two in the afternoon. She must have given you enough to knock an elephant to his knees. Maybe she was trying to kill you, you think?”
“Maybe,” Ry agreed. He sure felt like a corpse. “If you know where she is, why isn’t she back here?”
“I was going to pick her up. Then I thought maybe she could lead us to her brother.”
“She doesn’t know where he is,” Ry growled, forcing himself to stand on his own two feet. “I want her back here, dammit!”
“Because she’s part of the case? Or is there something you neglected to mention?”
Ry swore. “It wouldn’t have changed anything even if you had known Margo and I have a past. I’m not willing to put her life in jeopardy again, Jackson, and that’s the bottom line.”
“Again.”
“Yes, dammit, again. And no, I don’t want to explain.”
The tone in his voice clearly let Jackson know there would be no further discussion on the subject.
“While you were sleeping, I called the precinct and talked to Andy. The report came in on yesterday’s floater.”
“And?”
“And Anthony Taos works for Denoux Inc., that import-export outfit on the waterfront. Andy says the blood on the deck of the Nightwing is a perfect match to Taos. Cause of death, head wound at close range. Probably a .25 caliber. Andy said you were right. The floater was in the water twelve hours max. Those damn crabs can raise a lot of hell once they find a meal that ain’t going nowhere. The man’s nose and fingers were still intact.”
“Who do you have tailing Margo?”
“Frankie Costanini. Until I relieve him, he knows he’s her shadow.”
“And what has she been doing since she left here?”
“I can’t tell you where she was before eight-thirty this morning, but I can detail every hour after that. I ran her down at…” Jackson pulled out a notepad. “At 8:36. She was at her mother’s place. She spent three hours there, then at 11:20 she headed to the Toucan Lounge. She talked with Tony Bichon and a waitress named Angie Carson.” He paused to read his stingy handwriting. “She returned to her apartment at 1:10 and made a phone call to Brodie Hewitt around 1:30. Tapping her apartment phone was a good idea, but it didn’t get us anything. Hewitt didn’t pick up. Frankie’s been watching her place ever since. She’s been cleaning up her apartment.”
In the bathroom Ry pulled himself slowly together. He felt like hell, but more than that, he felt like a damn idiot. He should have expected something like this. Margo had never been the type to sit back and do nothing.
You would have thought he was a damn amateur the way he had let her con him. Maybe Clide was right, maybe he had no business working on a case that he was emotionally involved in.
Ry stared at himself in the mirror. Margo had drugged him, for God’s sake, with his own sleeping pills no less. He should have thought something was fishy when she had insisted on cooking supper for him. But then he’d been too damn busy trying to smooth her ruffled feathers to analyze her sudden interest in raw hamburger patties.
After she’d done the dirty deed, he still hadn’t caught on, not even after he couldn’t stop yawning and his eyes had felt like they weighed a hundred pounds apiece.
He was willing to admit she’d outsmarted him and that his pride had been stung in the process. One part of him wanted to strangle her, but the other part applauded her determination.
Ry braced his hands on the sink and closed his eyes. Suddenly, out of nowhere a hazy image surfaced—an image of a warm body straddling him, a pair of hands touching him. Then he heard a voice, Margo’s voice next to his ear.
He squeezed his eyes tight, concentrated on remembering. What had she whispered? What had she felt she could say to him asleep that she couldn’t say to him awake? He had to know.
A half hour later, showered and shaved, Ry entered the kitchen to find Jackson in front of the stove cooking him a mess of eggs. When his partner glanced up, he said, “I thought some food in your belly might bring you around quicker. It’s suppertime, anyway.”
“I’m in a hurry,” Ry insisted, glancing at his watch. It was almost seven. What did Margo have planned for tonight? Would she go to work, or did she have plans to shake the tail Jackson had put on her and go looking for trouble?
“I just called Frankie. Margo’s fine. Like I said, she’s picking up the mess our friends left and carrying it out to the trash in the back alley. There’s time, and we need to talk.”
Ry was in the middle of pouring himself a cup of coffee. He glanced up, not ready to hear any more bad news, but by the tone in Jackson’s voice, it wasn’t good news. “What is it?”
Jackson stepped back from the stove. “I went looking for Goddard last night like you said. I couldn’t find him. I talked to a few of the old birds in the square, but nobody’s seen him.”
Ry swore.
“I’m not saying he’s dead,” Jackson offered.
“You’re not saying he’s alive, either.”
“He probably skipped with your hundred bucks.”
“That’s crap and you know it.”
Jackson stepped forward and slid the eggs he’d fried onto a waiting plate and delivered the plate to the table as though he’d been a waitress all his life instead of a cop. Ry eyed the plate, the neat way the eggs were arranged, the way the silverware sat atop the folded napkin on the table. “You a short-order cook in another lifetime, Jackson?”
His partner moved back to the sink. “So I cook. My mother owns a restaurant and she advised me to learn. She said the chance of a woman putting up with me was slim to none. I guess she was right. The way things stand, I couldn’t buy a date in this town if I owned the city and promised the little lady half.”
A touch of a smile parted Ry’s lips as he pulled out a chair and sat. “So you’re looking for a wife, is that it?”
Jackson poured himself a cup of coffee, then leaned against the counter. “Women don’t naturally fall for cops, partner. Or haven’t you noticed?”
Ry nodded, then took a bite of over-easy eggs. He knew all too well the risks a woman faced if she got involved with a cop.
“So what’s next? You want me to go pick up Margo and bring her back here?” Jackson asked.
Ry sipped his coffee. “My first reaction would be yes. Drag her back here kicking and screaming if you have to.”
“So you can lock her up again?”
“It would be for her own good,” Ry reasoned.
Jackson nodded. “You’re probably right, but what makes you think it’ll work this time? It didn’t before. Sooner or later—”
“It would work. I’d know what to expect.”
“Maybe. Maybe if she pulled the same scam. A smart lady wouldn’t.”
Ry shoved the empty plate to the middle of the table. “Should I be off this case, Jackson? Is my judgment on this one way off?”
Jackson shrugged his wide football shoulders. “Truth?”
“Truth.”
“If you have to ask me that, then maybe you should be. We haven’t worked that long together, but from what I’ve seen, you usually don’t sit back content to wait like this. If you hesitate, analyze the situation too long, you lose your edge. That’s what you told me once. You also said it makes a cop vulnerable and puts the people around you in danger.”
To hear his words tossed back at him was sobering, but it was also what he needed to hear.
If he couldn’t take charge of the situation, then he should let someone else take over.
“I’m surprised the chief didn’t pull you off this case at the beginning, or doesn’t he know about Margo?”
“Clide knows about Margo. But he didn’t until yesterday.”
“Withholding evidence.” Jackson grinned. “And here I thought I was the only one who did things like that.”
“So it’s time to make a move, is that what you’re saying?”
“That’s about it. You want my angle on it?”
“Go ahead.”
“I’d set up a sting. I’d let Margo out on a short leash and wait to see who came sniffing around.”
“Use her as bait?” Ry nodded. “That’s what she suggested last night.”
Ry sat back and sucked down his coffee while his partner continued to amaze him by putting the kitchen back in order. It seemed Jackson was as comfortable with a fry pan and dishrag as he was with the Diamondback .38 he carried under his shirt. He said, “I’m pretty sure Margo will head for the Toucan tonight, that is if I don’t come after her. She’s too loyal to Tony to miss another night behind the piano.”
“The Toucan’s crowded on Saturday nights,” Jackson reminded. “That could be good or bad, depending on which way you look at it.”
“Let’s hope good.” Ry checked his watch, then stood. “She goes onstage in a little over an hour. That doesn’t give us much time to set it up.”
Jackson pulled the towel he’d been using as an apron from his belt and hung it beneath the sink. “So do I replace Frankie? I’m still on suspension.”
“That’s never stopped you from getting involved before. Besides, Frankie has no experience with a woman like Margo. She’s smarter than most.”
Jackson paused at the door. Grinning over his shoulder, he said, “She must be. She made a fool out of you. And that, partner, ain’t easy to do.”
She’d been tailed all day by a hairy youth who chained smoked like a veteran and paced with a nervous skip that drew more attention than if he’d tied balloons on his ears. Moments ago the clown had been replaced by old reliable. But Jackson Ward, unlike the youth, looked neither nervous nor tormented by an annoying habit he couldn’t control. For the past half hour he’d been leaning against the building across the street, and for the past five minutes he’d been cleaning his fingernails with a knife that was better suited to gutting a deer.
So where was Ry? Margo wondered. Was he still sleeping? She had expected to see him early afternoon. And when he hadn’t showed, she’d decided surely by suppertime. Only now it was past seven and frankly she was getting worried. She didn’t want to worry about a man she should hate, but there it was. Maybe he shouldn’t have eaten that third hamburger. Maybe…
No, Ry had been breathing fine when she’d left him. More than fine, actually. She wasn’t going to let her imagination run wild.
Pushing Ry from her thoughts, Margo glanced around her ruined apartment. She’d spent most of the day cleaning, piling the rubble into boxes and hauling it to the trash. It would take several days to make it look like anything, but it hadn’t looked that great to begin with, so she wasn’t going to lose any sleep over the end result. If she didn’t have any furniture for a while, she’d make do and sit on the floor.
She checked the clock in the kitchen, the only one in the apartment that still worked. It was seven-thirty and that meant she had to get to work. That is, if Jackson was going to allow her to walk past him on her way to the Toucan. She was confident that he would; otherwise she would already be back at Ry’s home.
She hoped so, anyway. She’d tried to be very visible today. If the men who trashed her place had staked out her apartment, they certainly should have spotted her by now. Yes, she was nervous, and more than a little afraid using herself as bait, but there didn’t seem to be any choice. Too many days had gone by without Blu contacting her.
She’d realized last night that in order to keep her mother safe and do the best she could for Blu and Brodie, she must tell her mother everything. Well, maybe not everything, but at least about Blu and the situation at present. Actually it hadn’t gone all that badly. And when it was over, she’d called Uncle Pike and had asked him to camp out on her mother’s couch for a few days.
It had been hard to admit she’d lied, but her mother had surprised her with a huge hug, then the assurance that everything would work out, especially since Ryland Archard was on the case.
Ry was right. Mama did like him.
Margo stepped onto the sidewalk and forced herself to cross the street. She walked directly past Jackson, her heart pounding wildly as she tried not to look at him. To her relief he didn’t try to stop her. She’d gone a block when she decided to look over her shoulder—Jackson had pocketed his knife and was now following her.
She reached the Toucan ten minutes later. She hadn’t realized how hot it was outside until she stepped through the back door and cool air touched her flushed face. Two more steps and she tilted her head to catch the rich scent of blackened catfish— Tony’s Saturday-night special. She’d only been gone a few days but she welcomed the familiar, knowing that tonight she would be appreciated and greeted warmly.
She walked up the short hall and peered into the lounge, not surprised to see the dining room crammed with wall-to-wall people. She made eye contact with Tony to let him know that she’d shown up like she promised. He nodded from behind the bar, then a smile took in his entire face.
“She’s well,” Tony shouted, kissing his fingers and sending the gesture through the air to where Margo stood. “Mais, yeah, tonight we celebrate.”
Margo laughed, then blew a kiss back to him. As she turned to go to her dressing room she glanced deeper into the dining room. She wasn’t prepared to see Ry seated at his usual table, and the sight of him froze her on the spot. Immediately her insides tightened and her heart began to race.
Like magnets, their eyes met and held. Then Ry did something completely out of the ordinary—he saluted her with the beer that sat in front of him.
Never before had he acknowledged her in public. And as friendly as the gesture looked, Margo knew he must be furious with her for drugging him. She gauged the intensity of his blue eyes, and a chill crept up her spine. He looked more formidable and determined than ever. More handsome, too. On both accounts she was going to have to be on her guard.
Margo’s breath left her lungs in a sudden whoosh. Thankful for the distance that separated them, she raised her chin. She had to be onstage in one hour, and she needed to get dressed, needed to concentrate on doing her best behind the piano. Even though that was the farthest thing from her mind, she needed to become the singer Chili duFray for a few hours.
She broke eye contact with Ry and headed for her dressing room. Inside, taking several calming breaths, she opened the closet where she kept a number of satin shirts and several pairs of tight jeans in various colors.
She’d been brought up a simple girl, and in most things her tastes reflected her upbringing. Still, when it came to entertaining in a city such as New Orleans, the exotic atmosphere required a complementary counterpart. In the past year, Margo had found a blend of her two worlds by wearing glamorous satin shirts and tight jeans. The combination was effective, especially when she accented the fashion statement with break-your-ankle spiked heels and an extra fifteen minutes in front of the mirror.
She stepped into a pair of skin-tight black jeans, then slipped on a loose chemise. She covered the chemise with a white, long-sleeved satin shirt that fell past her hips to graze her slender thighs. In front of the mirror, she checked in to make sure no one would be able to see the white bandage beneath the full sleeve of her shirt. Satisfied, she guided her feet into a pair of gold, three-inch, strappy spikes. Gold hoop earrings added a seductive flavor to her costume, as did a wide gold necklace, several gold bracelets, and last, an overstated imitation sapphire ring.
Her silky thick straight hair was easy, and she grabbed the b
rush on the vanity and skillfully brushed through the thickness, then added a sprinkle of diamond dust throughout and a pinky-finger amount to the corner of each dark eye. Last, she applied a spicy-flavored red lip gloss to her full lips. The look complete, she left her dressing room and headed for the small lit stage.
As she neared the lounge, she could hear Tony’s flattering introduction. Then, without delay, she appeared before them and slipped behind the piano. The applause lasted through the introduction of her first song, a soft ballad she knew so well she could sing it in her sleep. Her job was not to distract the Toucan’s customers, but to enhance the overall exotic atmosphere. Only Chili duFray, her sultry voice making love to each word she sang, easily captivated the customers and, like it or not, had become the main attraction from the first day she’d slipped behind the piano.
She moved into the next song, and the crowd reminded her with another round of applause just how much they had missed her. Forty-five minutes later Margo had succeeded in captivating her fans once more and was ready for her first break of the evening.
She had done well to ignore the corner where Ry sat, but as the dance crowd swelled, she chanced a discreet glance into the crowd and singled out the private table in the back of the room. She wasn’t surprised to see a petite blonde in a pink dress covered by a zillion sequins sitting in the vacant chair next to Ry. It was no secret that Charmaine Stewart had been literally tripping over her own feet to get Ry to notice her for months.
Margo watched the pretty blonde laugh, smile like an electric eel, then lean forward to whisper something in Ry’s ear. Like her father, Judge Stewart, Charmaine had made quite a name for herself in the society pages. The rumor mill lately hinted that the Judge’s daughter was looking for a husband. Closer to the truth, Margo figured, it was the judge who was looking for a husband to keep his daughter out of the gossip columns. And what better man for the job than a sexy homicide detective who just happened to live in the Garden District.