Now You See Him

by Stella Cameron

  “Uh-huh—and before. First he looked sick and scared, then mad.”

  “Did you have any thoughts about that?” Madge stirred her coffee and kept her eyes lowered.

  “Maybe. Tell me yours first.” Cyrus didn’t like to start gossip.

  “I think Joe’s in love with Ellie.”

  So did Cyrus and he wasn’t sure the idea gave him a warm and cozy feeling.

  Ellie Byron reached to turn off the computer but couldn’t make herself do it. Even when she pushed her chair away from the desk she could read the words on the screen, or maybe she’d memorized them in one reading.

  Charles Penn on the loose.

  And within hours another ice-pick killing had occurred, like the one at Mardi Gras two years ago.

  Hungry Eyes, Ellie’s bookshop and café, occupied the entire floor beneath her apartment and a second, vacant one she tried to keep rented. She had gone down to get ready for the day and popped back up to check the news online, as she did every morning.

  Ellie forced herself to move and ran down to lock the shop doors again. She hurried to switch off all appliances in the small café. She kept a wary eye open for her regular early customers and printed on an index card: Sorry. Late Opening Today. This she attached to a window with a suction cup and hook.

  Trailing a battered cell phone by its antenna, Daisy, her German Shepherd, loped into the shop and flopped on her bed, followed by Zipper, the moody cat Ellie had bought for Daisy. Zipper didn’t lope, she sprang, all four feet leaving the ground at the same time, and landed on top of Daisy. The dog inherited the phone after she began stealing and hiding it at every opportunity. She had played up like a kid when a call came in for Ellie.

  Outside in the square two early-morning delivery trucks, parked half on and half off the sidewalk, were the only signs that a new business day had begun. Boxes piled outside Cerise’s Boutique, a dress shop that had opened a few months ago, meant Cerise was late getting started again. Ellie worried about Cerise’s merchandise being left on the sidewalk.

  The driver of the second truck carried supplies into Lucien’s Hair Affair and Spa, where the first clients would already be lounging and tucking into fresh beignets and café au lait, unless they preferred champagne. Lucien had come from an upscale salon in New Orleans.

  The only other vehicle in sight belonged to her friend Joe Gable, a lawyer with offices almost next door. His army-green Jeep hung out in its usual spot beneath a gnarled old sycamore. Ellie gave the vehicle a long look. The thought that Joe was so close by gave her courage.

  From the way things looked outside, this was just another day in this old Bayou Teche town, only for Ellie it was anything but just another day. She switched off the little radio balanced between jars of loose candies on a shelf in the café.

  Keep busy. Think about what you should do next, but don’t think about ice picks. She stopped breathing and looked behind her, into the square, again. No one brandishing an ice pick out there.

  The nightmare began again and she squished the urge to call Joe. That wouldn’t be wise.

  “C’mon gals,” she said to the animals. She didn’t attempt to soothe their injured feelings at being disturbed from a little morning nap for the second time. “Now! Heel, Daisy. Upstairs we go.”

  Keeping up with the news online became a habit after the death of poor Stephanie Gray almost two years previously, when Ellie was the only eyewitness in the case.

  When the last tenant left the second apartment above the shop, Ellie hadn’t hurried to replace her. She still toyed with the idea of making the two apartments into one large one but couldn’t afford a renovation yet.

  Ellie closed herself in but heard the insistent ring of the bell at the shop door. She knelt on the floor beside Daisy and held her muzzle. “You’re a good girl but you mustn’t bark.” Some hope. Daisy thought barking at possible intruders was her reason to live.

  The bell rang again and she shuffled on her knees with an arm around Daisy until she reached the front windows. She looked down at the top of a man’s dark blond head. Behind him at the curb stood a gray Dodge sedan in need of a paint job.

  Ellie couldn’t think for the hammering of her heart and the pounding in her ears.

  Calm down. Sure, Charles Penn had similar coloring, but he wouldn’t come to her door in broad daylight and ring the bell.

  She should call for help now. Joe would come, and Spike. The phone rang and Ellie jumped so badly her chest hurt. She picked up and said, “Joe?” Sometimes he called her around this time.

  “You are there, Miz Byron. My name is Guy Gautreaux, Detective Guy Gautreaux, NOPD. I just want to ask you a few questions.”

  3

  Ellie shut Zipper in the apartment, muzzled Daisy and put on her choke chain. No point having a well-trained dog, then leaving her where she couldn’t be of any help.

  Daisy’s alert button had been pressed. Nose straight ahead, she didn’t as much as whine while she walked beside Ellie. They arrived at the shop door and Ellie peered through at a rangy man dressed in jeans and a denim jacket. Detective Gautreaux gave a big white grin and looked back at her with liquid, almost black eyes.

  The detective had an open face and his eyes were sincere.

  Ellie stared at him, waiting. Just because he looked like someone’s handsome, harmless big brother returned from a camp-counselor stint didn’t mean he’d get inside Hungry Eyes so easily.

  He mouthed something and indicated the door handle.

  Ellie put her hands on her hips and raised her eyebrows. Daisy gave a single deep bark and strained toward the door.

  He slapped his forehead in one of those “What was I thinking?” motions and produced his badge, which he pressed against the glass so she could read it clearly. Looked real, darn it. Now she had no excuse not to let him in. She took off Daisy’s muzzle and opened the door.

  Gautreaux stepped inside and locked the door behind him.

  Ellie wasn’t sure that made her feel comfortable. She could feel Daisy vibrating under her skin, see the way the dog’s eyes went from her to Gautreaux.

  The detective gave her a disarming grin and walked forward to take a look at the shop and café. “Nice place,” he said, and she noted that he wasn’t grinning anymore, although, even in repose, there were plenty of lines to prove he smiled a lot. “Some dog, too. What’s his name?”

  “She’s Daisy.” Ellie held on to Daisy as if she barely had control of the animal. “It’s not a good idea to make nice with her.”

  Gautreaux nodded gravely. “Ex police dog?”

  “No, but she’s just as well trained. Friend of mine had a friend who trained her. And Daisy’s in therapy regularly so she’s fairly predictable.” The devil made her say the last bit.

  “Therapy?” Gautreaux looked blank.

  “Both Daisy and Zipper. We’ve got one of the best animal therapists around, right here in Toussaint. L’Oiseau de Nuit. We call her Wazoo.”

  “Uh-huh. How interestin’. Is Zipper another shepherd?”

  “Mean cat. She belongs to Daisy. Daisy gets lonely if she doesn’t have someone to play with.”

  “Well,” Gautreaux said, “I sure understand how she feels about that.” The expression on his face didn’t flicker,

  and he didn’t give Ellie even a suggestion of an invitation with his eyes.

  “I have a lot to do,” Ellie said. This guy thought he was smooth and that she was a small-town girl waiting for a nod from an urban cowboy. If she had her way, he’d never find out how wrong he was about her.

  “Look, these are informal questions but you’re expected to take them seriously.”

  Ellie’s sweating hand slipped on Daisy’s cinch. She didn’t comment.

  “Where were you first thing yesterday mornin’?” He turned on the smile again. “Remember, this doesn’t mean anythin’. Just a few routine questions to fill up the necessary spaces.” His pen hovered over a notebook and he hummed while he waited. “Between the moonshine,
and the shinin’ of the moon…” He sang barely above a whisper. A pleasant sound—too pleasant.

  “Yesterday mornin’?” he prompted.

  “I was here.”

  “And you’d been here all the night before?”

  “Yes.”

  “Alone?”

  She blushed, darn it. “Yes, alone. I live alone.”

  “What time did you open up?”

  “Around twelve.”

  Gautreaux looked at her sharply. “Why so late?”

  She began to feel angry, and hot. “I take an occasional Monday morning off. I clean up the stacks, work on my books, pay bills.”

  “You can’t do that without closin’ the shop?”

  “I’m the only one here. I’d be interrupted all the time.”

  “So there wasn’t anyone here with you yesterday morning? Who saw—”

  Joe, in a mesh tank top and running shorts, used his key and opened the shop door. With his jaw jutting, he advanced on Gautreaux. “What the hell’s goin’ on here?” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “I see NOPD’s unmarked cars haven’t gotten any better-looking.”

  At the very least, Ellie would like to stand beside him but she thought better than to move.

  “You heard me,” Joe said. He had a film of sweat on his tanned face and body and his navy blue eyes narrowed to slits. “Why are you here?”

  “Who are you?” Gautreaux asked, flashing his badge. “This is a friendly conversation between Miz Byron and me.”

  “I’m her lawyer,” Joe said promptly, although he wasn’t. “Joe Gable.”

  “A lawyer with a key to the castle.”

  When Gautreaux showed his white teeth again, Ellie feared Joe might land a fist right there. Every muscle and sinew in his fit body flexed. His black curly hair clung to his forehead and neck.

  Since it was obvious Joe didn’t intend to answer the detective’s question, Ellie said, “Joe is my neighbor, too, and we keep spare keys for each other.”

  “Cozy,” Gautreaux said, apparently unaware that Joe’s stance had changed. Ellie swallowed several times. Leaning forward slightly, Joe curled his hands into fists.

  Without moving her feet, Daisy stretched her neck, sniffed Gautreaux’s jeans and rested her big wet nose at the side of his knee.

  Ellie didn’t move her away and Gautreaux behaved as if he hadn’t noticed.

  “Why are you here?” Joe said to Gautreaux.

  “I thought I told you. To ask the lady some questions.”

  Joe turned his attention on Ellie. “Did he tell you what the interview was about?” She’d never seen him like this. He seethed.

  “No,” she said. “But I figured—”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Joe said, quickly enough to let Ellie know he didn’t want her to finish what she’d been about to say.

  “Hey.” Gautreaux gave Joe a man-to-man look. “Why don’t the three of us sit down somewhere. I don’t have a lot to ask, but we could get through faster.”

  Joe appeared about to refuse, but he took a deep breath through his nose instead and nodded shortly. “How about the table at the back of the stacks?” he asked Ellie, putting a hand at her waist.

  “Fine,” she told him, very aware that for all the times they’d shared together, she never remembered him touching her except for one time when they danced at Pappy’s Dancehall.

  Gautreaux stood aside to let them pass between lines of books, and Ellie smiled when Daisy looked up at him and raised one side of her top lip. They took chairs around a table where customers sat to look over possible purchases. The circle of easy chairs for book-club meetings would be more comfortable but Ellie didn’t want to get comfortable.

  This time Daisy put her chin on Joe’s thigh and proceeded to sniff him. He laughed and said, “I really do need a shower.” But he kissed Daisy’s head and, with a great sigh, she leaned against him.

  “Let’s pick up where we left off,” Gautreaux said. “Did anyone see you here in the shop yesterday mornin’, Miz Byron?”

  Ellie thought about it and said, “I don’t think so.”

  “Not even your lawyer?”

  “Not even her lawyer,” Joe said, showing his teeth in a vaguely Daisy-way. “Loads of people must have, though, Ellie. The early café customers at the very least.”

  “Miz. Byron didn’t open the shop until twelve yesterday,” Guy Gautreaux said without looking at Joe. “She says she was doin’ paperwork and tidyin’ up.”

  “Then that’s what she was doing,” Joe said in as close-to-a-deadly voice as Ellie had heard him use.

  Gautreaux wrote and said, “Subject doesn’t have an alibi for night of the twenty-first or mornin’ of the twenty-second. I’ll need to speak to anyone who did see you in the afternoon, but you can leave that to me.”

  “You’re going all over Toussaint asking questions about me?” Ellie said.

  “I’m a discreet man,” he said, and stood up. Daisy squeezed past Ellie and planted that moist nose in exactly the same spot at the side of the man’s knee. “As Miz Byron was about to say before you stopped her, Joe, she figured quite correctly that I’m here because of her connection to the Stephanie Gray killin’. By now I’m sure you both know there was a murder in New Orleans yesterday. Royal Street. Same MO as the Gray case. Charles Penn escaped from custody a few days back and hasn’t been picked up, so I’ll ask you to be careful, ma’am, and call me at this number if you encounter anything unusual.” He passed her a card. “No one you couldn’t identify has tried to contact you? Or even someone you did identify but wished you hadn’t?”

  Ellie stiffened and took short breaths through her mouth. She knew what the last, not very subtle question meant. Daisy moved her head ever so slightly and gently closed her big, white teeth on a smidgeon of Gautreaux’s jeans.

  “No,” Ellie said. She might be scared but she wouldn’t let it show. She hardly dared look at Joe, but she could feel him, feel his anger, although she couldn’t figure out why he was getting so mad at her, or Gautreaux.

  “This was just an initial contact,” Gautreaux said. “I’m sure we’ll have to come to you again—or have you come to us. We’re there for you, and I mean that sincerely. I’ll make sure the local Sheriff’s Department is informed. Is there anyone you could ask to be with you until this is cleared up?”

  “Yes,” Ellie said. “Daisy.”

  “Not quite what I had in mind,” Gautreaux said, his gaze flicking toward Joe. “I’ll get some help from the local law. They’ll do some drive-bys to check up on you.” He glanced at Daisy’s teeth and Ellie gave a little tug to disengage her buddy.

  She wouldn’t help Gautreaux with a thing. He could find Spike Devol himself, and later she’d let Spike know she was just fine.

  The detective gathered up his pad and pen and, as an afterthought, put one of his cards in front of Joe, who left it on the table.

  One last grin, a move to stroke Daisy—sensibly aborted—and he scuffed his dusty boots out of the shop.

  Silence followed and Ellie’s jumpy nerves sickened her. Joe was her friend. He’d always been there if she’d needed something. Their response to each other had been slow at first, but the liking had grown steadily and she enjoyed his offbeat sense of humor and spontaneity.

  Joe stood up. He looked into Ellie’s face. “I’m goin’ to take a shower. Lock the door after me.”

  He walked out.

  4

  The shower didn’t cool Joe down.

  He didn’t have an appointment for a couple of hours, so he pulled on a tracksuit and stuffed his feet into thongs. If the thought of leaving Ellie to her own devices didn’t scare him out of his mind, he’d keep his distance. He felt angry with her, so angry he’d rushed out of her shop rather than risk giving into an urge to shake her.

  Something was wrong with Ellie. Not with her health or stability, but with a whole area of her life she kept secret. He didn’t feel great about it, but he’d tried to find out something about her bef
ore she came to Toussaint, only to discover that Ellie Byron had a short history. As far as he could figure out, Ellie had shown up in New Orleans five years earlier. She went to work in a bookstore, and had funds. A year later when the former owners of Hungry Eyes had been looking for a manager, Ellie had been given the post, and eventually bought the store.

  There was one prior address in California, where she lived with a Mrs. Clark, and that was it, the whole story of Ellie Byron, only it couldn’t be and he wanted to hear the rest—from Ellie’s lips.

  Damn it all. He hadn’t combed his hair. His tracksuit clung to wet skin and his mood wasn’t fit for public display, but he had to point out a few basic elements of survival to his neighbor.

  He didn’t stop to think through what he would say but shot through his receptionist’s office and into the rain. He slammed the door and locked it behind him. Joan should be in at any moment, but she could use her own key.

  Outside the air smelled dusty—or muddy. It would take a lot more of the wet stuff to wash the caked-on grime away. Even the windows needed cleaning again and the giant bougainvillea overhanging his porch should be hosed down so it was brilliant purple again, rather than gray.

  Damn, Cyrus would be crowing about his bloody rain. Let him. Joe felt things sometimes, too, and what he felt now was trouble. He marched to Ellie’s shop door and rang the bell. Don’t keep me waiting out here.

  Not a sound from inside. Not a move. He backed up to look at her apartment windows. No sign of her.

  Joe got close to the door, cupped his eyes against a clear glass pane between the border of stained-glass books. He tried to peer inside but the lights were off.

  “Damn, damn, damn,” he said, not caring who heard him.

  Staring hard, he made out something on the floor at the far end of the stacks. Something black and shaped like…it was Daisy’s foot. Right where the dog had been when Joe left. Which could mean Ellie remained where she had been sitting.

  He’d taken a bad situation and made it worse for Ellie. Joe rested his forehead against the glass. But he had to make her wake up, darn it all. It was time Ellie learned to recognize danger when it stared at her.