Now You See Him

by Stella Cameron

  She was too smart to think he’d agree and let it go. “College isn’t free. Neither is moving to New Orleans, then here to take over a bookstore.”

  “How did you know I was in New Orleans?”

  Recover from this one, you stupid bastard. “You mentioned it once.”

  Her expression flickered and she looked away. “I guess I probably did.”

  “What about the money?”

  “Mrs. Clark was generous.” Now the floor held her interest.

  “There’s more, Ellie. Isn’t there?”

  “I can’t say anything else.” Her voice rose. She crossed her arms and plucked at the edges of the bedspread. “Just leave it at that. It’ll be okay, won’t it?”

  “You want me to say it will, but I can’t. I don’t know.”

  She cried without making a sound.

  “Cher, I’m with you. I’ll do whatever it takes to help you.”He approached her with his arms opened wide and she stepped into them. She huddled close, trembling. “If you’ve finished all you want to say, I’ll back up your story. If something else happened and it gets to be an issue, you’ll remind anyone who wants to know that you were a kid who didn’t get any luck.”

  “I did,” she said. “I keep telling you. If I hadn’t gotten any luck I wouldn’t be here. Thank you for wanting to help me.”

  “No problem. We’ve got to go see Spike pretty early. Get some sleep.” The thought of sending her away made him one miserable man. She was lonely and he was lonely too—among other things.

  “You’re right.” Ellie summoned up a smile and ducked around him. She straightened the sheet and blanket on his bed and plumped up his pillow. First she flapped the bedspread in the air, then watched it settle over the bed before she went to work smoothing it out.

  A gentleman would stop her, but even a gentleman could be forgiven for forgetting his manners while looking at a pair of pretty legs, and an equally pretty bottom clad in white lace. Lamplight through the shirt did dangerous stuff. When she bent over, it fell away from her body and Joe got a light show of full breasts—swaying softly with each move she made.

  If she saw what looking at her had done to him, she might or might not be thrilled. He didn’t recall jumping to attention with that much enthusiasm in a long time. He picked up his own shirt from the back of a chair and pulled it on.

  He glanced down. Shit, when did a shirt become a skirt? When it hung in frills from the business end of a man’s penis. He smiled through gritted teeth and laced his fingers together over the playful part. It hurt, felt wonderful, but painful.

  “There,” Ellie said, turning toward him. “All done.”

  Not even close, baby. “Thanks,” he said. “Will you sleep okay now?” He wouldn’t.

  “You know I didn’t tell you everything, don’t you, Joe?”

  “Yes.”

  “But you’re not going to push for more information?”

  “No. I can’t do that to you.”

  She put a hand to her mouth. “If the police decide to go after everything and not quit till they find what they want, I could lose any credibility I have with them.”

  If he said anything at all, she could clam up. He might be selfish, but if there was something he needed to know about her, he’d better find out now.

  Ellie closed her eyes and swayed. “They might find out about a dead man, and then figure out a way to get me mixed up in it.”

  Joe screwed up his eyes. He breathed slowly through his nose. “Were you mixed up in it?”

  “No. Not the way you mean. But you’ve only got my word for it. There, I’ve told you. Now you have to decide what you’ll do. Whatever you choose will be the right thing and I’ll accept it even if…I’ll accept it.”

  A light knock sounded at the door.

  Ellie backed all the way to the wall, pulling the shirt as far down as she could.

  Joe didn’t answer the knock. Oh, no, Cyrus would not be invited in here tonight.

  The door opened enough for Cyrus to extend his head until he saw Joe. “I took Madge home,” he said.

  “Oh, good.” Don’t let him look to the right.

  “We talked about a few things. Do you know your sister is seeing Paul Nelson—a lot?”

  “Everybody knows,” Joe said. Cyrus’s appearance had taken care of the skirt situation.

  “Except me,” Cyrus said loudly, his dark eyes glossy with anger. “You’re careless, Joe. I can’t say more than that.”

  10

  “Hey, Jilly. Who’s serving breakfast at All Tarted Up?” Jilly and Wazoo had opened up at Hungry Eyes this morning. “Why you wanna know?” Jilly responded, knowing Paul Nelson was only making conversation. “Vivian Devol is filling in for me at my bakery. She loves it and she’s certainly had lots of experience. She’s got Missy Durand to do all the runnin’. And you’re here. So why do you care about my shop?”

  Wazoo had only been asked to feed Zipper, but the two of them, with Vivian Devol, had decided to help out in a bigger way. Wazoo worked at Rosebank to pay for her room, but she made her own timetable and loved being there for her friends. Jilly poured freshly made coffee into mugs and Wazoo carried them to early-morning drop-ins at Ellie’s shop. Pleased as she was to do some trade for her friend while she was gone, she disliked the feeling that most people were there out of curiosity.

  It wasn’t that they didn’t care about Ellie, but there could be no mistaking the excitement in the air, and on a hot, rain-soaked morning that threatened thunder, it didn’t make sense for most folks to be there at all.

  Paul got up from a table in the window and sauntered to the counter. He leaned far over and said, “Just talking for talking’s sake, sweetheart. The reason I’m here and not at your place is because you’re here.” He smiled and she remembered why she was falling for this man.

  “Thanks,” she said, and popped toast out of the toaster. “Sit down where you were, hmm? I’ll bring your toast over.”

  “As long as you’re with the toast, that’s just fine.” He strolled away, glancing back to smile at her, and slid into his chair again. He smoothed the blue-and-white-checkered tablecloth out and Jilly felt his eyes on her all the time.

  Wazoo worked with Ellie’s sinuous, blue-eyed tabby cat draped over a shoulder. People might scoff at Wazoo’s claims about her affinity for animals, but they held good for Zipper, whose eyes—always a little crossed—lost focus whenever Wazoo came near her.

  Not one, but two customers browsed the books already. The taller of the two, a man with dark blond hair and almost black eyes, had settled a book on top of a stack and seemed intent on reading the entire thing. Jilly knew the color of his eyes because she’d caught him staring at her and he had not attempted to look away until he was ready.

  Lucien, who ran the spa in the square, sat with Cerise, owner of the boutique, also in the square. This should be their busy time—opening and doing the early morning necessities, but they sat drinking coffee and, judging from the expressions on their faces, worrying.

  They looked up when Wazoo put pieces of peach pie in front of them and Lucien, a dark, dramatic man, cleared his throat and said, “When do you expect Ellie to get back?”

  “Miz Ellie?” Wazoo said. “She sleepin’. She had a bad night, her.”

  Doll Hibbs from the Majestic, Toussaint’s eight-room hotel, said, “Stuff on the radio ‘bout it. That girl gotta be one scared puppy. I say we all gotta git in here and lend a hand. Let her know she’s safe because we’re keepin’ her safe.”

  Wazoo moved Zipper from one shoulder to the other. “You right, Doll. We gonna keep that Ellie safe.”

  “You sure she’s all right?” Cerise asked. Blue-eyed, blond, and with a perfect figure, Cerise wore clothes that invariably advertised the boutique. “How can we be sure someone can’t get at her with all of us down here and her on her own?” Today Cerise wore a black-and-gray silk dress with an asymmetrical hemline, a point on one side almost hitting the ankle strap of one shoe whi
le a similar point barely skimmed the opposite knee.

  “She just fine,” Wazoo said, and Jilly wished she had been able to stop the careless comment about Ellie being asleep.

  The shop bell rang and a stranger walked in bringing the scent of rain and some muggy air with him. Lil Dupre from the rectory was next and Jilly closed her eyes an instant. Lil would only fuel the fire of curiosity. She joined Doll, her good old friend and partner in gossip-mongering, and the two of them put their heads together.

  The stranger looked the crowded scene over and asked Paul if he could join him.

  Jilly didn’t remember the place being so crowded.

  “Lil agrees with me,” Doll announced, and the chatter went into a lull. “We need to make sure Ellie’s never on her own.”

  Wazoo called out, “Pain perdu, Jilly? We got eggs to do that?”

  At All Tarted Up, French toast was a specialty. “I brought the bread,” Jilly said. “And Ellie’s got eggs in the refrigerator.”

  “Anybody listenin’ here?” Doll asked. “Ellie needs someone with her.”

  “She got that Daisy,” Wazoo said without as much as a flicker of regret when she caught Jilly’s eye.

  “Ellie gets up early,” Lil said, sounding petulant. “Never knew her to hole up like this.”

  “You never knew her to be in this kind of scrape,” Cerise said. She put another small forkful of peach pie into her mouth. “She’s got a killer after her. Wouldn’t you shut yourself away if some crazy with an ice pick had it in mind to put a hole in your head?”

  There was a general sucking in of breath. “Shame on you for sayin’ a thing like that,” Doll told Cerise. “Maybe where you come from, whatever sickly place that is, people appreciate your evil talk.”

  “Hey,” Lucien cut in, smiling but with his arched black brows raised. “There’s no need to speak to Cerise that way. What has she ever done to you?”

  “Given ideas to a lot of girls in this town,” Doll said, a spiteful glint in her eye. “Wrong ideas.”

  Wazoo began crooning. She held Zipper high in her arms and rocked the cat to and fro. “Don’t you cry, little one. It’s okay. Wazoo, she understand what you feel. Jest let it all go. Give it up to me.”

  Jilly, on her way to take Paul a second serving of the toast he favored, prayed Wazoo would cool it, at least until they got rid of the morning’s rush of overexcited folks.

  “So what is that cat’s problem?” Paul asked. He looked up at Jilly and he wasn’t smiling. He gave her that look that turned her weak.

  “Zipper,” Wazoo announced, pushing her wild and shiny black curls behind her shoulders, “has a common-enough condition. She needs all kinds of thoughtfulness from people who care about her. She’s got low-member-of-the-pack syndrome. Always tries to work harder and make herself more noticeable because she feel inadequate. Bein’ around a big dog like Daisy—and Zipper loves Daisy, mind you—but it make Zipper behave out of character. Notice how she springs up on her toes when she walk? And if things get quiet she flies around all over everythin’? Jest tryin’ to make herself taller and git noticed.”

  When nobody laughed, Jilly was amazed, although she saw more than one mouth pressed firmly shut.

  “What can you do about a thing like that?” Homer Devol, Spike’s dad, had been eating breakfast, reading the paper and minding his own business—until now. Homer spent most of his spare time with Charlotte, Vivian’s mom.

  “Give her more responsibility,” Wazoo said promptly. “And more praise, and be grateful she’s not a male.”

  Homer, who continued to run the gas station and convenience store he’d operated with Spike until his marriage to Vivian Patin, swung onto the back two legs of his chair. “Feel like tellin’ the rest of us why that is? And while you’re at it, how do you give a cat more responsibility?”

  In one of her long black lace dresses, this one caught at intervals around the hem with a pink flower, Little Bo Peep style, Wazoo struck a pose with one finger raised in the air. “The male animal with the little-critter syndrome is a real pain in the ass. He can’t git his mind off comparin’ the size of his parts for long enough to even start dealin’ with the other stuff.”

  “Hey, Wazoo,” Cerise said. “Ellie’s not here at all, is she?”

  Jilly held her breath.

  “Cerise,” Wazoo said, her face screwed up as if even the question pained her. “Why would you make a suggestion like that? What you tryin’ to do, frighten ever’one? I tol’ you Ellie was sleepin’ and I meant it.”

  “She call you and Jilly and ask for help?” Lil said.

  “No,” Jilly said, preempting Wazoo. “It was Madge who called because Cyrus let her know what happened at Pappy’s last night—”

  “When Charles Penn tried to kill Ellie in them trees?” Doll said.

  “I wouldn’t know anything about that,” Jilly told her. Paul used the cover of the tablecloth to hide how he caressed the back of her leg. She clamped down inside, willing herself not to react.

  “I guess it was on the radio,” Homer said, and buried his nose in his paper again. “Let me know when you ready to git to the responsibility bit, Wazoo.”

  “Why, you leave her food in its bag so she has to figure out how to get at it.” Wazoo had that “you shouldn’t need to be told” look on her face. “If a cat don’t get fed, she’ll learn to feed herself soon enough. Teach her how to fetch. There’s no reason the dog has to do all the work. Git the cat on a leash and teach her the same commands you teach a dog. Cats are smart. They like havin’ a leash and learnin’ to heel and sit and lie down when they’re told.”

  A slightly hushed chuckle sounded.

  Undeterred, Wazoo said, “You jest wait. No time a’tall you’ll see sniffer cats at airports. What makes anyone think they approve of them drugs anymore’n a dog does?”

  “Thanks for the explanation,” Homer said. He balanced a straw Stetson on one knee and rocked on the back legs of his chair again.

  “Another thing,” Wazoo said. “Give this cat a cell phone like the big boss got—that’s Daisy—and watch her ego puff up.” Nobody pointed out that Daisy only got the phone because she played up when Ellie talked on one, and Zipper didn’t care about small stuff like that.

  “They was havin’ some sort of shindig at Pappy’s,” Lil said as if sniffer cats hadn’t interrupted her train of thought. “That whole hoity-toity bunch.”

  “Hold your horses, Lil,” Paul said, laughing. “I was there and you can’t call Marc and Reb, or Cyrus and Joe hoity-toity.”

  “Just a manner of sayin’,” Lil said, her eyes expressionless. Year after year her bleached hair covered her head in long, thin, wiggly curls, edge to edge, a bit like an anemic brain on the outside of her skull rather than inside. “If Joe Gable thinks it’s a secret that he’s moved in over those offices of his to be near to Ellie, he thinks wrong. The furniture went in at night but we know about it. Ozaire knows the men Joe hired to paint the place, too.”

  “You got it all wrong,” Wazoo said. “Joe, he gonna rent out them rooms.”

  Why is she finding things to lie about? They’ll all come back to bite her—and me for not putting things straight. Jilly took two carafes from the hot plates and wove her way through the tables, refilling cups.

  When she reached Paul, he said, “This is Jim Wade, Jilly. He’s from Washington State only he hasn’t told me why. We ought to make him take off his shoes and show us his webbed feet.” He laughed.

  Jilly did not see the humor in it.

  Jim Wade was one of those average men with a pleasant but forgettable face and sandy hair, thinning on top. His neat, beige seersucker suit, cream shirt and brown tie suited him.

  “You’re right about Washington,” he said. “We always say it’s like living in a car wash. But we’re the Emerald State, remember. Our grass is always green.”

  “I’m sure it’s beautiful,” Jilly agreed. “Are you just passing through?”

  “More or less,” Ji
m said. He hooked a finger over his shoulder. “I’m staying with the Hibbses at the Majestic. Very nice, too. I’m looking at properties for a client who might want to set up business here.”

  “What kind of business?” Paul asked promptly.

  Jim wrinkled his nose. “I’m not at liberty to discuss my client’s business. If he comes you’ll know soon enough.”

  Jilly leaned over the table, supporting her weight on the edge. Without too much subtlety, Paul pressed a folded piece of paper into her palm. She put it into a pocket.

  “Oh, that boy done up that place so he can watch over Ellie,” Wazoo said. “There’s no point keepin’ on denyin’ it. Joe’s a gentleman but he’s got the hots for Ellie Byron. Too bad he so damn slow gettin’ to the point. Make things a whole lot easier if they slept in the same bed.” She gave a magnificent shrug.

  A chuckle and titter or two quickly died away. Jilly smiled. She wished Joe and Ellie would get together but hadn’t seen much to suggest they would.

  “My Ozaire was sayin’ he don’t think we know the half of what’s goin’ on around here.” Lil pushed out of her chair and made her way to the counter, where she peered straight down into the pastry case, drumming her fingers on the glass at the same time. “Too much coincidence, that’s what he say.”

  Jilly whipped out a plate and slammed open the case. “What can I get you?” She was furious with Lil.

  “What kind of coincidence would that be?” Homer said, giving his newspaper a snap. When you looked at the man’s rangy body and lean face you knew where Spike got his good looks from.

  “Ozaire says we don’t know much about Miz Ellie,” Lil said. “She come here to work for Connie and Lorna, then she buy them out. But you ever see any family, anyone at all? You know somethin’ about where she come from?”

  “I don’t know where you came from, Lil,” Jilly said, seething now.

  “Ever’body knows I come from Crowley, got my sisters in Crowley. What you tryin’ to suggest, Jilly Gable? We know all about you.”

  “You bringin’ that pastry?” Doll asked. Her face was flushed and she mouthed “sorry” to Jilly. “You got anythin’ with marzipan in it? Father Cyrus goes dotty for that stuff. Might as well see what all the fuss is about.”