Ellie crossed her arms tightly. Her bright blue eyes weren’t soft anymore.
“Anyhow, Jilly volunteered to go open up the café. They’ve sold some books as well, accordin’ to Homer. Vivian’s doin’ the duty at All Tarted Up. She…Is there a problem, Ellie?”
“Meddling,” she muttered.
The glaring overhead lights hit Spike square in the face and he screwed up his eyes to look at her. “Come again.”
“Meddling,” she said, a whole lot louder this time. Joe saw her start to shiver. “There’s nothing to get uptight about. Not as long as I let you all do what you’ve wanted from the start. You want to be in charge. Not just you, Spike, but everybody.”
Spike filled his lungs and let the air out real slow.
Joe felt how tight Ellie was strung and feared she could break down. It wasn’t all about anger, there was fear in there and he was best able to know why. Too much talk was the last thing she wanted or needed.
“I shouldn’t have said that.” Ellie tipped up her face and blinked quickly.
Joe put an arm around her shoulders. He put his mouth to her ear and to hell with what Spike thought. “They can gab and interfere all they like but I want you to remember two things. First, they only want your happiness. Second, they don’t know one thing you talked to me about last night.”
She lowered her eyelashes and said, “No,” almost under her breath. “Thank you, Joe.”
“We do have a hummer of a problem coming our way,” Spike said, running his fingers through straight, sun-streaked hair with a mind to stick up in front. “Gautreaux got to me on the mobile. He’d been to Hungry Eyes and found out Ellie was somewhere around but not there. He went to St. Cécile’s. Cyrus said you’d slept there, Ellie, but you’d left.”
“Amazin’ how many ways Cyrus can find to skirt the truth without tellin’ a real lie,” Joe commented.
“Nobody better ever say something bad about Cyrus,” Ellie said. “He’s got the steadiest head in this town.”
Joe and Spike looked at each other. “We know. Don’t worry, Cyrus has a hand in most things around here,” Joe said.
Spike raised his brows but said, “No use denyin’ it. That isn’t the only thing on Gautreaux’s mind. He’s got it fixed in his head that Ellie’s keeping things to herself.”
Ellie swiveled until her face was invisible to both of them. “How come he gets to come here and make demands? This isn’t his turf.”
“The murder was committed in New Orleans,” Spike said. “That makes it their case. We’ll do everything we can to help. What’s happening here is obviously tied to what’s happening there, so we have to cooperate.”
“Cooperate?” Ellie looked back at him. “Does that mean you’ll allow him to walk over me, and you, and everyone else around here? I wasn’t in New Orleans when the murder happened on Royal Street, even if Gautreaux did try to suggest I might have been. He doesn’t have a right to push me around, darn it!” She breathed harshly through parted lips.
“It’s okay,” Joe said to her. “You know how homicide detectives are.”
Spike rolled his eyes, letting Joe know he wouldn’t be collecting any subtlety prizes. “He’s just doin’ his job and he knows you didn’t play any part in the crime,” Spike said.
“Leave it,” Ellie said, and without warning she stumbled, caught herself against the wall and stayed there with her forehead on her arm. “Just forget it.”
“Has she seen Reb?” Spike said, and Joe could hear the concern in his voice. “She should have been checked over by now. You got scratches all over you, Ellie? Like the ones on your neck and face?”
She wasn’t moving. Joe risked rejection and leaned a shoulder on the wall beside her. “We need to get you to Reb.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“Why?” Joe and Spike asked in chorus.
Ellie looked over her shoulder at them and Joe swallowed hard. He hadn’t been prepared for the haunted face she showed. “Someone’s trying to get me. He tried to get me last night. He knew I was out there at Pappy’s. What’s to say he doesn’t know I’m here right now. And he’s waiting, just waiting for a moment when he can get at me again—and make a better job of it this time.”
“Charles Penn?” Spike said.
“Or whoever. How often do we know the whole story?” She connected with Joe’s gaze and didn’t try to look away this time. Her curly hair stuck to her forehead. “Things come along to shock your socks off all the time. People aren’t what they seem to be. I never said I could identify Penn and I can’t now.”
This woman he cared for—maybe too much to be good for him—felt deep fear. Again and again she spoke in a way that made him think she was denying something. Had she seen Penn then chosen to say she hadn’t?
“You didn’t see him clearly last—”
“No.” She cut Spike off. “I didn’t even try to see him because I didn’t want to. And don’t you glare at me just because I can’t give you what you want. I was dealing with my life, not yours.”
Spike sat on the old table. “I am not glarin’ at you, Ellie Byron. Maybe there are times when someone else’s expression doesn’t have one thing to do with you.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Well, it did have somethin’ to do with you but not because I’m mad you tried to be careful. I’m just gettin’ worked up over dealin’ with faceless creeps. I need some idea what this man looks like.”
“Getting Penn’s glamour shot is easy enough,” Joe said.
“Thank you for reminding me of that,” Spike said, sarcasm dripping. “There’s something about the way you talk about this, Ellie. Do you think…ah, forget it.”
“Do I think what?” she said. “That we’re definitely dealing with Charles Penn? I don’t know, but then, I made it pretty clear I wasn’t sure they had the right man when they arrested him. They wanted someone to put away and he drew the short straw.”
“You believe that?” Joe said. He felt sick. If she was right, the wrong man could have been locked up and that happened too often. “Ellie, do you?”
She looked everywhere but at him. “I guess not.”
“That’s not good enough, dammit.”
One loud knock announced Homer carrying a big carafe of coffee and some mugs. Spike’s little girl, Wendy, followed her granddaddy. She had little containers of cream tucked the length of the arm she held against her body, and a fistful of sugar packets. It didn’t take but a moment for the seven-year-old to feel the grown-up and irritable vibes in the room.
She waved shyly and backed to the door. “I’m going out to help Lori,” she said. “Where’s Daisy?” Wendy was crazy over Daisy and spent a lot of time at Hungry Eyes with the dog.
“She’s visiting with Father Cyrus,” Ellie said. “I’ll make sure you get to see her very soon.”
As thin as she’d always been, Wendy had grown taller and her braids were lost to a silky, tow-colored bob. Joe thought she grew even prettier with passing time.
“Thank you,” she said to Ellie with a little dip. Then she looked at her father, rushed to him and gave him a big hug. “See you later, Daddy. Vivian’s cookin’ a special supper.”
Puzzled, Spike frowned.
Wendy kissed her granddaddy and ran from the room.
The beaten-up black phone on one corner of the desk rang and Spike picked it up. He heard Gautreaux’s voice and the man was pissed. “Know where she is yet?”
Spike put a little distance between himself and the rest. “Here.” Gautreaux was an odd bird. Too intense for a man who’d been in Homicide as long as he had.
“I’m on my way,” he said.
“Hold it,” Spike said, “Better give me—”
“I can’t.” Spike heard the cop’s shallow breathing. “If she tries to get away, arrest her for something. Obstruction of justice would do.”
Spike rolled his eyes.
“I’ve got to sit down.” Ellie spoke clearly but didn’t sound herself.
; Women were wonderful, Spike thought, they were also crazy-making. “I’ve got your number, Guy. Everything’s cool—no problems at all. Let me call you when the time’s right. Okay?”
“It’ll have to be, I guess.” Gautreaux hung up without another word.
Ellie turned a blank face toward him. “He knows,” she said faintly.
No one responded.
Spike exchanged looks with Joe. Yeah, to Joe this wasn’t a simple case of helping a friend who was in a tight spot. He had a whole lot more invested here. Strange how it had taken this mess to make the situation between Joe and Ellie clear.
Joe put an arm around her waist. “What do you mean, he knows?”
“I’m going to be sick,” she murmured with a hand over her mouth. Spike could see how she sweated.
“Let’s get you to the bathroom and have Lori give you a place to lie down,” Joe said. “We’ll be back,” he said, but didn’t sound too sure. He half carried Ellie from the room.
“I’ll go check on Wendy,” Homer said, showing his old discomfort with emotional tension.
Spike nodded and turned away to stare at the wall. He heard the door close behind his father.
Who knew what?
“I’ll be out here waiting,” Joe said through the door of the only women’s bathroom. He expected Ellie to tell him to go away but she didn’t. “Would you rather have Lori here?”
Not a sound.
Fine. He didn’t want to leave her, anyway.
“You okay, cher?”
Ellie didn’t answer him.
Joe knocked on the door and said, “Ellie?” He looked down at the crack beneath the door. At least she’d put the light on. She wasn’t up to the pressure.
A sliver of her long skirt had slid under the door.
“Ellie!” He dropped to his knees, trying to see more. “Open the door, Ellie.” She had to be sitting—or lying—on the floor.
Heart pounding, Joe leaped to his feet and yanked at the handle. It gave and opened…and thudded against Ellie. She moaned. He saw how she half reclined against the wall with her head bowed.
He needed to push himself through the narrow opening and climb over her.
Deserted in both directions, the corridor ran behind the front offices. The only one likely to come back here was Lori.
“Ellie,” he said. “Please say something, Ellie.” Without waiting, Joe grasped the top of the door, slapped the bottom of a foot against the jamb so the door wouldn’t swing shut and mangle his hands, and stretched his other leg over Ellie’s head until his foot landed against the sink.
Either he got himself all the way over, or he’d do himself an injury.
Everything depended on the strength in his trailing leg. Working his foot higher up the jamb, he judged the moment when he had most leverage and threw himself sideways.
“Shit.” His second foot connected, but his balance wobbled on the edge of the sink. He would fall on her. “Ellie, move!” Just words.
His right shoe slipped along the edge and shot into the air.
He kept on going—until impact jarred his leg, pieces of fractured toilet seat shot up and he landed in the fetal position around the pedestal.
For a few seconds he held still, waiting to feel or see blood. His ankles moved just fine. “Get up, dammit.” There would be plenty of bruises.
A sheen of sweat filmed Ellie’s face and her hair clung, wet, all over her head. On his hands and knees, Joe scooted close to her and heard her shallow breathing. He grabbed a paper towel, soaked it under the faucet and sponged her face, her neck.
She looked at him.
“Good. That’s right, cher. I’ve got to get you out of here.” And get medical attention. “Can you help me? Put your arms around my neck.”
Either she couldn’t hear him, or she didn’t understand. She continued to stare at him.
“Yeah,” he said to himself. “Here we go, then.” Hampered by the small space, he hauled her up and threw open the door.
Ellie planted her feet but clutched a handful of his shirt.
Relief weakened Joe’s knees. “You feelin’ better? Thank God. You fainted in there.”
All he got was a silent stare. Tears coursed down her cheeks. She trembled, and when he put his hand over hers, she felt icy. “You’re ill,” he told her. “You need to lie down. C’mon, I’ll carry you.”
“I can’t prove I didn’t see a face and remember it.”
Joe didn’t move a muscle. He watched Ellie and he’d swear whatever she saw, it wasn’t him.
“Sometimes it’s an oval, no color, no features. Sometimes I see the mouth, or blood on the face. I’ve never seen eyes. But maybe his face was painted blue and gold and he wore feathers on his head.”
He held her. “You mean you see the person who killed Stephanie Gray?”
“What are you talking about?” Ellie shook him off. “Of course I don’t.”
“You just said you did.” He couldn’t think what else she might have meant.
Her expression changed. She looked behind her then back at Joe. “No, you misunderstood. I was just mentioning a dream.”
12
“Guy Gautreaux worked on the Stephanie Gray case, too,” Spike said, talking to Joe while they came into the room. Ellie sat, cross-legged, on Joe’s new couch.
Zipper looked at her from a distance, cross-eyed, bristling, and definitely bearing a grudge for being abandoned.
“That explains the man’s crappy attitude,” Joe said. “Poor bastard.”
“It’s business as usual for him, remember.” Spike, still in uniform despite the late hour, approached Ellie. “How you feelin’? Joe said you slept all day.”
She had showered, put on the clean pants and a shirt Joe went with her to get from her own place and didn’t remember falling asleep on the couch. “I’m human again,” she told Spike. “All I needed was a lot of sleep, but I’m sorry for making a nuisance of myself this morning. I feel such a fool.”
“Do you want me to make a list of what’s happened to you in the last couple of days?” Spike tapped the top of her head with a knuckle. “You’ve taken a beating in there, and just about everywhere else. What did Reb say?”
“I’ll survive,” Ellie told him. She didn’t say how Reb had suggested some therapy to help deal with anxiety. No shrink would be poking about in things she’d rather keep private.
Joe eased down beside her on the couch. “Reb said Ellie’s exhausted. She needs to keep her life as normal as possible.”
“Which means I’ll be back at work in the morning. I don’t think anything’s going to happen to me with people around.”
The two men looked at each other in a way that irritated Ellie. A “we know something she doesn’t know and now we’ve got to figure out a way to break it to her” look.
“Wazoo asked Vivian if she could come over and help you out for a bit,” Spike said. “Vivian thinks that’s just fine. The real busy time’s over at Rosebank and Homer’s always looking for excuses to leave Ozaire Dupre in charge for an hour or two and run around behind Charlotte. And be around Wendy as much as possible. He’ll pop in to see if anything needs doin’.”
Homer Devol and Charlotte Patin were the kind of unlikely friends who made you smile. Homer treated Charlotte with old-world deference while Charlotte pretended she didn’t care if Homer was around or not. She cared very much. They enjoyed each other.
Ellie considered the idea of Wazoo being around every day. “Wazoo’s got her psychiatric work to consider.”
“Get on,” Joe said. “You know folks only play along with that game to be kind to Wazoo.”
“Darn you, Joe Gable,” Ellie said, getting to her feet. “If you haven’t seen Wazoo deal with an ornery critter you don’t have any reason to have an opinion. She’s the only one who can make that—that—” She pointed at Zipper. “Look at her. If she crosses her eyes much farther they’ll turn backward. She’s so mad she can taste it, and all because I wasn’t there when
I was supposed to be. Wazoo can soften Zipper up in no time. I can’t.”
Men were predictable. Spike tapped his nose with his hat, but Ellie wasn’t fooled, he was hiding a great big grin.
“I haven’t seen that,” Joe said with a straight face that looked real. “I didn’t intend to be mean.”
Ellie marched toward Zipper, who got up, turned her back and sat down again. “That’s enough from you. Who pays your bills? Huh? You’d better not forget it.” She picked the cat up and held its rigid body against her while Zipper stretched her head and neck as far as possible from her boss.
Spike looked at his watch. “This has been a long day. I hope Gautreaux gets here soon.”
“He’s coming here?” Ellie felt like a nasty kid, but she didn’t intend to talk with that man anytime soon. “I’m going home.”
“No you’re not,” Spike said. “I’ve put the man off all day. He’s been holed up in that interrogation room, working on the phone and with his laptop. You owe him for bein’ reasonable, Ellie.”
“He’s going to ask me questions.” Panic gripped her. “You said this was all just a courtesy so we don’t have to do it if we don’t want to.”
“Believe it or not, he’s doing his damnedest to deal with this in whatever way is easiest for you. My boss has already told me he’d agree if Gautreaux wanted to take you in.”
“Take her in where?” Joe got closer to Spike than made Ellie comfortable. “Just what are you talkin’ about?”
“It’s not going to happen because Ellie’s going to cooperate and be nice. You are, aren’t you?”
This sterile room with its white walls and ceiling, brown leather couch, new rugs—in beige—and huge flat-screen TV, didn’t give Ellie any warm, cozy feelings. But she did feel comforted, being there with Joe. If she’d been less tired she might have felt other things, too, but now she longed for her own familiar apartment.
Perhaps it wouldn’t be such a bad idea if Joe slept in the spare apartment. It was really comfortable.
She must not give in or all the fighting would have been for nothing.
Now You See Him Page 9