On the Edge

by Jayne Ann Krentz

  Oh, yes, sir. She gathered the handful of black silk and held it at arm’s length. “What am I supposed to do with it?”

  “Grow up,” Jack said, but his voice was even. “Use your head and start looking around.”

  He went into the bathroom again. Celina didn’t want to look, but couldn’t stop herself. He made a ball of the towel and dropped it, then made a visual search of the space.

  “How—” Celina swallowed. “How long ago do you think he died?”

  “I’m not a pathologist.” He bent over Errol’s body.

  Celina saw what he was doing and looked away. How could the act of touching a dead man’s penis be at once so personal yet so impersonal?

  She picked up a long, black scarf from the floor and untied another from the head of the bed. The fur glove was almost hidden by a pillow. Celina took a tissue from the pocket of her robe and used it as a barrier between her fingers and the thing that disgusted her. She dropped the glove among the heap of silk.

  Α bottle of bourbon had rolled under the bed. Fortunately it had been capped. The room was stuffy and foul smelling. “Should I open a window?” she called.

  “No,” Jack said, so close behind her she jumped and spun around. “We’re going to admit they’ll find our fingerprints all over this place, but you don’t open windows in someone else’s bedroom, not if you’re only supposed to be trying to find them.”

  “Where should I put all this stuff?” Celina asked, not wanting to as much as touch it.

  “In your apartment.”

  She gazed at him. “I don’t want it there.”

  “What you do with it later is your business. That’s where it will have to go for now.” He picked up the phone beside Errol’s bed and dialed the emergency number. Then he said, “Medical emergency. Heart attack. I’m not sure, but I think so. I understand. I’ll stay on the line. Someone will be waiting for you down below.” He held an open hand toward Celina, and in the palm rested the awful green rubber ring she’d seen.

  When she backed away, he frowned and motioned her to come to him. She did so and he pushed the ring among the other things she held while he gave the Royal Street address to whoever was on the phone.

  He hung up and said, “Go. Now. Get dressed fast and come right back. They’ll be here.”

  “You’ve forgotten something,” she said. “Whoever these things belong to. What if she comes forward and says what really happened here?”

  “Go,” Jack said. “She’s not going to say anything.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  He looked her directly in the eye. “I’m sure.”

  Chapter 3

  Miss Payne could move fast, he’d give her that. Jack had heard the approach of sirens, and now feet clattered on the stairs from the courtyard. Only minutes had passed, but Celina had already sped to her rooms and back, and managed to exchange her robe for a loose white linen dress. She was still frantically buckling flat brown sandals.

  Jack heard Antoine say, “He this way. Lordy, I don’t know what the matter,” and shot a warning glance at Celina before going to fling the bedroom door open. He was confronted by medics. They passed Antoine in the hall and hurried through the bedroom to the bathroom, carrying steel cases of equipment and a portable gurney.

  “Mr. Petrie?” Antoine said. “What the matter, him? He sick? Mr. Charbonnet? Miss Celina?”

  Celina went to Antoine and threaded her hands around one of his massively muscular arms. “We need you,” she told him. “It’s bad, Antoine, very bad.”

  “Lordy, lordy,” Antoine muttered, wiping his spare hand over his sweating face. A giant of a man, his tightly curled hair had turned gray, and each flash of very white, gold-edged teeth chopped his dark, finely featured face in two.

  “Thank you for showing the medics up,” Jack told him, feeling the depth of the man’s distress.

  Antoine said, “I gotta go to Mr. Petrie, me.”

  “Not now,” Celina said. “We have to allow the medics to do their job.”

  Jack studied her face. Either she was concerned for Antoine or the lady could act.

  “Mr. Charbonnet,” the man said, “you tell me what happen?”

  “You know Mr. Petrie didn’t have a good heart,” Jack said.

  Antoine waggled his head. “He dead. You sayin’ he dead, him.”

  More sirens sounded, quickly growing closer. Jack met Celina’s very blue eyes again. He saw a question there and raised his brows. if they hoped to salvage as much as possible here she had to keep her cool.

  Two cops appeared behind Antoine. One said, “Excuse us, podner,” and they made their way into the bedroom. Jack glanced behind him at the activity inside the bathroom. The medics worked over Errol’s body. When he turned back, Jack saw that Antoine cried silently and made no attempt to hide the tears.

  One of the policemen left the bathroom. “Might be better if you three gave me your names, then took a seat in another room,” he said, flipping to a clean page in his notebook. “We’ll start with you.” He pointed his pen at Antoine.

  By the time each of them had complied, another siren sounded and rapidly zeroed in. It cut off outside the building.

  Within moments, loud male tones rose above other, more quietly spoken men’s voices. “I am going up there. If you want to stop me, you’re going to have to shoot me in the back. Right there between my shoulder blades. Just make sure you give me a chance to take off my shirt first. It’s linen and cost a bomb, I can tell you.”

  Jack felt an urge to laugh at what he recognized as Dwayne LeChat’s dramatic declaration.

  Compact, with blond curls still wet from the shower, Dwayne wore denim shorts and a flowing white poet’s shirt. He tore into the bedroom a few steps ahead of two more members of the New Orleans Police Department. Beneath a perfect tan, his round face was almost as white as his shirt. He pushed Antoine aside and started for the group in the bathroom, but stopped. “I knew it,” he muttered. He glanced at Celina and said, “Is he dead?”

  “We’re afraid he may be,” Jack said quickly. Celina’s eyes darted to his and away again. He’d have to keep on top of things or she’d give them away. “Why don’t you go into the parlor, Dwayne? Errol would want you here. He thought of you as family.”

  Dwayne chewed the knuckles of his left hand. “You’re talking about him in the past tense already. You think he’s dead for sure. Oh, my God. How?” He turned to Celina. “How did it happen, darling? He’s—oh, I don’t care, I refuse to speak of Errol in past tense. He’s the gentlest of creatures. He abhors violence. No one would deliberately hurt him.”

  Jack stared at Dwayne, then shook his head slightly when a policeman, his cap pushed back from his sweating brow, asked, “What makes you think Mr. Petrie was deliberately hurt, Dwayne?”

  “He’s as fit as a fiddle, Mulligan,” Dwayne snapped, his intelligent brown eyes sharp. “You gentlemen of the law are a trifle too quick for your own good—unless some law-abiding citizen needs you to actually think about something. Then your tiny little minds crawl—in reverse. I want to see Errol.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea at the moment,” Officer Mulligan said.

  Dwayne gave him a pitying look and went toward the bathroom anyway. As owner of a drag club on Bourbon, he was on at least a last-name basis with most city cops. No one knew if LeChat was really Dwayne’s last name. Jack liked the guy. He was rarely serious, but he was a man who made a faithful friend.

  “I’ll go and wait in the parlor,” Celina said, holding his gaze. She seemed to want him to get the message that she was in control. “I’ll take Antoine with me.”

  “I should wait outside,” Antoine said, his expression desolate.

  “You’ll wait with me,” Celina said firmly. “I need you, and Mr. Petrie needs you to be here too.”

  A sudden, uncontrolled burst of sobs froze them all. Jack turned around in time to see Dwayne stagger backward, his hands pressed to his stomach. Mulligan caught h
im by the arm and led him to the others, saying quite gently, “I think this is too much for you, Dwayne. Why not give yourself a break and go sit in the parlor? Have a drink.”

  “My God!” Dwayne pulled away from the policeman as if he were afraid of being hurt. “He is dead. They’re going to take him away and cut him up. They’ll take his insides out and paw him and poke him and make their nasty, sterile little notes. And they won’t know anything about who he was. You can’t open a man’s body and find him inside. Errol Petrie isn’t in there anymore.”

  Jack pinched the bridge of his nose. He wasn’t good at shows of emotion.

  “Go sit down, Dwayne,” Mulligan repeated. “Maybe you could take him, sir,” he said to Jack.

  With a nod, Jack took Dwayne firmly by the elbow and guided him from the bedroom and along the corridor to the parlor. Once inside, he steered the other man into a daffodil-yellow armchair and poured him a brandy.

  Celina came to stand in the middle of the room. Antoine hovered awkwardly to one side. Both declined a drink with a shake of the head.

  Jack heard more footsteps in the hallway but didn’t bother to find out who else was descending on this house of death.

  Celina touched his sleeve hesitantly and immediately dropped her hand. He wanted to take that hand in both of his and press her palm to his cheek. He wished they were alone. He’d wished that on a number of previous occasions, but never as desperately as now. Wanting her was suicidal, and even allowing the thoughts he’d had about her to surface at a time like this was bizarre.

  Without warning, Antoine bowed his head and wept. His body jerked with each racking sob, and Dwayne leaped up from the chair to mutter to himself and pace.

  Agitated, Celina said, “Stop them, please,” and clapped her hands over her ears. “This is too much.”

  He agreed, but couldn’t allow himself to give in to an urge to yell for calm. “You’ll be able to leave soon,” he told her, not at all convinced he was right. “The police will have some questions to ask, but then they won’t keep you.”

  “I won’t be going anywhere.” She sat on the couch that matched the daffodil-yellow chair, crossed her legs, and twitched her skirts around her knees in an unconsciously provocative gesture.

  Jack’s glance at her legs wasn’t so much unconscious as inevitable. They said her legs had bought her the Miss Louisiana title. Jack didn’t believe any woman got to be Miss anything that a lot of people coveted on the strength of their legs, or any other thing God had given them. Not a pair of long, long legs, or a pair of deceptively innocent navy-blue eyes—or a mouth many would consider too big.

  Or did they?

  Taken a piece at a time, Celina Payne might not be spectacular. Put all those pieces together and she was physically irresistible—except to Jack Charbonnet.

  Antoine’s sobbing subsided and Dwayne threw himself back into the chair.

  Jack cast about for something other than Celina to hold his attention. He ran his gaze up the high white walls to gold crown moldings, a still life in oils that hung over the fireplace, and vowed to improve his timing when it came to admiring the female of the species. Thanks to Celina’s redecorating talents, and Errol’s indulgence of her influence over him, the room was tastefully beautiful.

  When she spoke again, he realized she’d expected him to respond to her last statement. “I take it you don’t have a problem with that, Jack,” she said. “I’ll be staying here for the present anyway. I’ll have a lot of work to do to keep things running.”

  She’d have a lot of work to do? Jack studied her again and decided he might not enjoy some of the battles that lay ahead. On the other hand, they might not be all bad....

  “I’m glad to hear you say that,” he told her, taking some pleasure in the surprise on her face. “Your help is going to be needed, I’m sure. Errol told me many times that you kept him on the straight and narrow around here.”

  A rap sounded on the open door and a man with an official air but dressed in rumpled plainclothes stood there. “Detective O’Leary,” he said. “NOPD. I’m going to ask all of you to remain here, please. I’ll be asking each of you to speak with me alone. Nothing to worry about. Just formality at this point.”

  Jack straightened up and pushed his hands into his pockets. “Sure. I’ll be glad to do anything I can, but couldn’t you let Miss Payne take a rest first? She’s had a terrible shock, Officer.”

  “Detective,” O’Leary corrected. “And haven’t you had a shock too, sir? Under the circumstances, it might be as well if Miss Payne hung in here until we’ve spoken with her. Just procedure. I’m sure you all understand. Did you turn the victim over, Mr. Charbοnnet?”

  “Over?”

  “You didn’t?”

  “Why would I?”

  “No reason. I was just asking.”

  Why didn’t the man come out with whatever he was almost saying? Jack walked to the door. “I’d be glad to be questioned first,” he said. “But how about you tell us all what’s on your mind?”

  “Nothing definite to tell until the autopsy’s been performed.”

  Antoine said, “Lordy, lordy,” and shook his head repeatedly.

  Celina wrapped her arms tightly about her middle and blinked back tears.

  “You’re not suggesting”—Dwayne rose from his chair—”that is, Errol had a heart attack, didn’t he?”

  “He may have,” Detective O’Leary said. “The medical examiner will tell us if he did. And if he had one, the examiner will tell us when he had it—before or after.”

  The detective enjoyed his little games. Jack didn’t. “I’ll bite,” he said. “Before or after what?”

  “Before or after what probably killed him.”

  His chin jutting, Dwayne walked toward the detective.

  “What kind of a goddamn comment is that, O’Leary? You don’t have a heart attack after you’re dead, do you?”

  O’Leary took out a smashed pack of cigarettes, lit up, and squinted from Dwayne to Jack to Celina and back to Jack. He exhaled slowly and said, “I guess Dwayne’s got a point there, huh?”

  Chapter 4

  Celina didn’t want to be alone with Jack Charbonnet. He either looked at her and apparently didn’t see her at all, or he looked and saw too much. At the moment, he stared at her, stared at her face, then her body—all the way to her feet and back.

  The questioning was over until they were called again. Antoine was showing the police through the areas at the back of the courtyard that were used primarily for storage. Errol’s rooms were taped off and the police continued to examine and photograph the scene.

  Jack shifted his attention. “There’s a crowd in the street,” he said. He stood to one side of the window to peer down. “As soon as the ghouls go away, I’d like you to let me take you somewhere for a good meal. You look as if you need one.”

  She stopped herself from giving a sarcastic response. “Dwayne should be back with coffee soon,” she said instead. Dwayne had insisted on kitchen duty and informed Celina that he didn’t need or want her help.

  “Coffee isn’t going to be enough,” Jack said. “For either of us.”

  She didn’t answer. Much as she wished it were otherwise, she knew this man was only being polite. He had never approved of her, never approved of Errol hiring her. Most of all, as he’d already mentioned several times that morning, he absolutely disapproved of her living there.

  “Do you think Errol was murdered?” she asked.

  Jack wandered away from the window with a faraway look in his eyes. “I think the police are moving in that direction. But they’ve got to be wrong. I’m convinced of that.”

  “If they aren’t,” she persisted, “we destroyed the evidence at a crime scene.”

  “I know.”

  “Should we go and tell them what we did?”

  “For God’s sake, no. Please do as you originally said you would—when you were dealin’ with all of this so calmly. Keep your mouth shut.”

&
nbsp; Α flush shot into her cheeks at his tone. He sounded so angry.

  Without looking at her, he said, “He called me late last night. I was on the phone, so he left a message on my voice mail. Damn, why didn’t I check to see if anyone had called?”

  She didn’t feel like soothing his feelings. “We do what we do.”

  That earned her a flicker of green eyes in her direction. “Yeah. I suppose we do.”

  “It wouldn’t have made any difference.” She didn’t do the cruel thrust well.

  “It might have. When we find out how…We don’t know when he died yet, do we?”

  The man had a way of tossing even a small kindness back. “No,” she said.

  The clip of high heels on wood silenced them both. “Celina?” Her mother’s voice echoed from the hall. “Where are you? It’s your mama.”

  Jack flopped into a chair. “Exactly what we need,” he said. “Some additional drama.”

  “You’re talking about my mother,” Celina said while her heart sank at the prospect of what was about to come. “In here, Mama,” she called. “We’re in the parlor.”

  “You sound as enthusiastic as I feel,” Jack murmured. “Can we hope she won’t get hysterical on us?”

  Celina spared him a glare and rose as her mother entered the room.

  “There you are, Celina,” Mama said. “So much fuss. Police, TV people, cameras—and such a crowd. How people do love to gawk if they think they’re goin’ to see something awful. I actually had to sneak into the courtyard and hope I wasn’t noticed. Then a policeman tried to stop me from coming up here! I ask you—stop me from visitin’ my own daughter!”

  “What are you doing here, Mama? I told you last night that I’d call you later today.”

  “We argued last night,” Bitsy Payne said, tears filling her eyes. “I just could not stand another minute knowing you were not happy with your mama.”

  “Not now, Mama. Please.” Celina hated to look at Jack. Her mother had a way of embarrassing her whenever they were together in front of other people.