Now You See Him

by Stella Cameron

  “You are going to cooperate?” Spike repeated and she jumped. She had never heard him speak like that before.

  “Sorry,” he said, waving a hand in front of his face. “Everything’s going to be fine.” To Joe he said, “I can’t lie to you. I’m saying the obvious. We’ve got a killer on the loose, a very dangerous man. As much as Ellie hates it, she’s connected to him.”

  “I am not, Spike.”

  Spike gave her a wry smile. “Okay, whatever makes you feel best. But if Gautreaux makes the request, you’ll have to go in to New Orleans for questioning.”

  “That won’t happen,” Joe said. He took Zipper from her arms and set the cat down. With his wrists on her shoulders and his head bowed until their foreheads almost met, he rocked her a little. “You can do this and you can do it here. And remember, if the detective tries anything different I’ll be right beside you.”

  “Yes,” she whispered, and wished they were alone. “I’ll do everything right.”

  “I know you will.” He turned aside, listening. “Someone’s driving down the lane. Engine’s missing.”

  Spike cleared his throat. “That’ll be Father Cyrus bringin’ back Daisy.”

  At Daisy’s name, Zipper virtually rose to stand on her claws and thrust her head forward.

  A few minutes passed before Daisy galloped up the stairs from the back of the building. She slurped at Ellie’s hands then went directly into a tight huddle with Zipper.

  “Anybody home?” Cyrus called. “Can you receive visitors?”

  “Surely,” Joe said.

  At the doorway, Cyrus stood back to let Madge walk in first. Raindrops clung to her hair and eyelashes, and the shoulders of her red jacket were wet.

  “Hey,” she said, smiling all around. “You’re lucky I worked late. I reckon Cyrus was fixin’ to keep Daisy another night. I made him do the right thing.”

  Cyrus laughed. He stood beside her, looking down into her upturned face, and Ellie caught her breath. They made a handsome couple, and for an instant before they turned from each other, only a fool would have missed how their smiles faded and the brief look that passed between them was more of a caress.

  “Gautreaux worked on the Gray case, too,” Joe told Cyrus, rushing the words out. “That’s one tough job he’s got.”

  “He told you that?”

  “No,” Spike replied. “I’ve still got a contact or two at NOPD. That’s where I got it.”

  Ellie thought about what Spike and Cyrus said. “I didn’t meet the detective until he came here,” she said.

  “He just wasn’t one of the people who dealt with you the first time,” Spike said.

  “Why can’t this be over?” Ellie said, not expecting any answers.

  Cyrus took hold of her hand and patted it. “We all wish it was over, too. A lot of people care about you.”

  “I think that man Penn would be too scared to stay around here now,” Madge said. “He’s long gone. I still can’t figure why he came after Ellie.”

  “Two reasons.” Guy Gautreaux spoke as he climbed the last few steps in the darkened stairwell. “One, if Ellie really didn’t see him on Bourbon Street that evening, he wanted her to help clear him. Two, if she looked at him and he saw recognition, he planned to kill her because he’s a sicko and he can’t stand the idea that somehow he messed up.”

  “I didn’t hear your car,” Joe said.

  “I came from the station on foot. Walking helps me think.”

  “I’m sorry you’ve had to go through both of these murders,” Ellie said, and meant every word—until she realized her mistake.

  “How would you know about that?” He shifted his weight from one leg to the other. “We didn’t meet before I came to Toussaint.” His black eyes couldn’t be more hostile.

  “I told them,” Spike said. “I want them to understand that if you seem tough and pushy it’s because—”

  “Thank you,” Gautreaux said. He didn’t sound grateful. “The woman who died on Royal Street was Billie Knight. She was twenty-nine and lived not far from Jackson Square. Troubleshooter for some computer outfit.”

  “Did she have a family?” Ellie asked quietly.

  Gautreaux stared at her hard. “No family. No husband. She made fair money but not so much for someone who was going it alone. Tilton—Xavier Tilton, the guy who owns the jewelry shop—said she went in there regularly and looked around. Each time she asked if she could see the same ring and he said she was so soft-spoken and gentle, he’d just let her put it on her finger and look at it. He figured she’d never buy it, but he liked to see her smile. She was a very pretty woman.”

  Ellie cried quietly and heard Madge sniff and swallow.

  “I’m not supposed to give a damn about any of it anymore, but it can hurt. I want this bastard. With a bullet in him or any other way I find to stop him.”

  Spike shifted. A significant glance passed between him and the detective.

  Ellie looked at her watch. “Anyone mind if we watch the news? Just in case anything else has come up.”

  Everyone but Spike and Gautreaux sat on the carpet and Joe retrieved the remote from beneath the couch. He moved through channels and stopped when a red “alert” sign flashed on the screen.

  “Let’s get a New Orleans channel,” Cyrus suggested.

  “Just a sec.” Joe protected his custody of the remote as any red-blooded man would.

  “Late-breaking news in a New Orleans murder case,” a national announcer said, and went on to give all the details Ellie wished she could forget. “Tonight a tip came in from someone who said he’d figured out a connection between the two deaths.”

  “Fuck it,” Gautreaux said, the words explosive. “If I find the little bastard who couldn’t wait to leak this to reporters…I will find him.”

  “Sonja Elliot, multi-bestselling author of the Garvey Jump thrillers, wrote Death at Mardis Gras, a book released almost two years ago about a woman who died during Mardi Gras. Another Garvey Jump title—Garvey Jump is the psychotic killer who is pursued in each book by Elliot’s female sleuth—Death in Diamonds, went on sale early in the summer. In this story, a woman dies and falls into a display case of diamond jewelry. The New Orleans murders of Stephanie Gray and Billie Knight are carbon copies of the crimes in these two Sonja Elliot novels.

  “Miss Elliot, famous for her extravagant lifestyle, lives mostly outside the United States, and has yet to be reached.”

  “You can turn it off,” Gautreaux said. “They’ve covered it. I knew we wouldn’t have long before that little gem blew up all over the country, but even a few more hours could have been useful.”

  He offered Ellie a hand up. “Let’s talk.”

  “Is it okay if I sit where I am?” She didn’t want him to touch her.

  Madge and Cyrus said their goodbyes and left the apartment.

  “You can call me Guy,” Gautreaux said, surprising Ellie. “Are you comfortable talking to me here with Spike and Joe present, or is there someone else you think should be here?”

  She shook her head.

  “You don’t think Charles Penn is guilty, do you?” He didn’t waste time sashaying to the point.

  “I don’t know. I said that before. I don’t have any way to be sure, that’s all.”

  “You know Penn has a rap sheet that doesn’t quit? He belongs in jail, anyway. For a long time.”

  She shook her head and felt dumb. Joe sat close beside her on the rug and he carefully took hold of her ankle in strong fingers.

  “Assault. Theft. Rape times four. Attempted kidnapping. More theft. Disorderly conduct. Beating a prostitute he was pimping for—he did that a lot but the girls always said he didn’t, they were that scared of him.” He paused, rocking onto the toes of those well-worn boots, and made it too tough for Ellie to look away from his eyes. “I think he’s our guy, and I want to be the one to bring him in.”

  In the strained silence that followed, Ellie wished she could wipe the slate clean, go back and n
ever stay in that hotel on Bourbon Street, never go out on the balcony.

  “I say we call it a night,” Guy said shortly. “It’s too late to start now.” He strode away and his boots thudded on the floors. “Forget anythin’ I said about you needin’ an alibi. I was blowin’ smoke. Don’t try readin’ yourself to sleep with scary stories, Ellie.”

  “He’s a weird one,” Joe said when the outer door banged. “I swear there’s something over the top about him.”

  “Been in Homicide too long,” Spike said. “Wears every one of ‘em down in time.”

  Daisy chose that moment to get up and bound around the room in circles.

  “Does she need to go out?” Joe asked, just as the dog flopped down on her side again and Zipper took a flying leap to land on her buddy’s belly and curl up. “I guess I have my answer. I’d better see about some supper for all of us.”

  “Oh, my…stupid memory.” Spike spat those words out. “Supper. A special supper. Vivian’s making me—” he checked the time “—made me a special supper. We were all supposed to eat together.”

  He ran from the room and took so many stairs at a time it was a miracle he didn’t kill himself.

  13

  “I’m glad you could come with me to take Daisy back.”

  ’ “Me, too,” Madge said.

  She and Cyrus stood on the gravel parking strip near the rectory.

  “I’ll follow you to Rosebank,” Cyrus said. “See you safely home.” He’d have liked to ask her to have coffee but it was late.

  Madge caught the shine in his eyes as he looked toward the sky. “I won’t let you do any such thing, Cyrus Payne. I’ve got a good car and a good cell phone. And the rain’s stopped so I’ll see just fine. But thank you.”

  “I’m still going to see you home.” He disliked thinking of her driving those deserted roads alone—more so with a killer unaccounted for.

  “And then I’ll have to see you home because that old beater of yours could die at any moment.” Madge made it sound light, but she worried about him in the ancient Impala. “Please give in and get a new car.”

  He glanced down at her. The wind tossed her curly hair. “One of these days, I believe I’ll have to. It’s fine for now.”

  Nothing was fine for now, Madge thought. There they stood on a wild night, using a conversation about her going home to keep them both right where they were.

  “Well.” Well, what? He should just see her into her car and follow her when she drove away.

  Tree limbs scuffled together. The leaves rustled.

  For once the frogs were quiet. Worn out from their earlier efforts, maybe.

  “It’s downright chilly,” Madge said. “Spike keeps talkin’ about expectin’ wicked weather. Maybe he’s right.”

  “What am I thinkin’ of—lettin’ you stand out here on a night like this?” Cyrus said, knowing too well what was on his mind. “You get on in that car of yours.”

  “Cyrus?”

  “Yes.”

  “Nothin’. Just work stuff. It’ll wait till tomorrow.”

  “You sure?”

  “No,” Madge said. “I’d like us to go in and talk awhile.” Her skin felt too small for her body.

  Cyrus hesitated. There was always a moment, an instant, when no harm had been done and it was best to make sure it stayed that way. But what did he say to her?

  She had made him feel awkward, Madge thought. “You’re right,” she said. “It’s too late. Another time will do. There’s no hurry.” She bent over her purse, searching out her keys. She found them and started walking, keeping her head down and watching the toes of her shoes. Her throat burned.

  “Hey,” Cyrus said, raising his voice a little. “You offered to visit with me. You can’t offer a man a pleasin’ hour then leave him standin’ in his own parkin’ lot.” He couldn’t let her go, not like that, not feeling bad and scuttling away with her head down as if she thought she’d done something wrong.

  “You’re tired,” she said.

  “Did I say I was tired?” He forced laughter into his voice. “When did you get to decide if I’m tired or not? I’ve got a guilty secret and I think I should share it with you.”

  She took in a full breath again. It was all right; she hadn’t ruined everything. There were things that couldn’t be changed so you accepted them, made the best of them…and you held them real tight.

  Madge turned back toward him and walked through a slanting beam from one of the groundlights. She had narrow ankles, pretty legs. Everything about her was pretty—except for her tongue on occasion. He smiled and caught his bottom lip between his teeth.

  “Guilty secret?” she said. “Oh, good. Mr. Clean has a zit. You’re hard to live up to sometimes.”

  Madge caught up with him. She smelled of damp cotton and lemons. Nice. He was lucky to have someone like Madge working for him.

  She worked with him more than for him.

  “How the mighty are fallen,” he murmured. “Come on. I’ll show you.”

  A low light shone in the kitchen at the back of the house. Lil said a rectory ought to have a light on all the time, just in case someone needed to see it, to be guided there. Madge followed Cyrus along the side path toward the back door. It was amazing how even the most annoying of people could show caring and gentleness.

  “Be careful you don’t trip,” Cyrus said, and patted his pockets until he found his keys.

  “You, too.” Walking behind him, watching his shoulders swing a little, his long legs cover the paving stones quickly, made Madge glad for even this much. What was she saying? There were more things than she could count to be grateful for.

  “Here we go. At least it’s always warm in this old house.” Holding the screen open with one hand, he unlocked the door and pushed it wide with the other. “In you go. I hope you’re feeling in a forgiving mood.”

  Madge grinned at him on her way past. “That’s going to depend. I’ll be fair. Even you expect that of me.”

  He touched her arm. “Even me?” He gave her a quizzical look. “Do you think that could possibly be—most of all, me?”

  “Of course it could.”

  If she had thought herself ready to deal with Cyrus, to clear away some of the ambiguity, to arrive at an understanding, a way for them to live in less pain, she doubted she had been right. She wouldn’t say anything after all.

  “I’m going to get this over with right now.” What did he intend to say tonight? Cyrus wondered. Nothing? Yes, that would be best.

  Lil’s old radio, the one she never turned off, played quietly on a white-tiled counter beside the stove. Like Madge, Lil’s favorite music was zydeco. The two of them had been known to do a spirited two-step around the kitchen.

  Waiting for whatever Cyrus reached for at the back of a cupboard, she tapped a toe and took a step or two to the beat. “Don’t mess wi’ my Toot Toot,” she sang, barely audible.

  Cyrus’s silence stopped her. She looked at him over her shoulder. He leaned against the counter watching her, swaying to the music, but with a hard downturn to his mouth. He caught her looking at him and stirred.

  “I’m goin’ to give this to you,” he said, pointing to a familiar, very pink box at his hip. “That’ll make it okay, won’t it? If I give it away?”

  Her wicked grin made him smile right back. “Now, let me see,” she said. “Is this stolen property?”

  He laughed. “No. But I was sneaky about doin’ the buyin’.”

  “Let’s take a look.” Flexing her fingers like a magician about to perform a trick, she whipped the string undone and pulled it from the box, threw back the lid and looked down on two of Jilly’s famous marzipan tarts. “Get on, Cyrus Payne. I can’t believe what I see. And hidden in a cupboard Lil never uses. Aha! This gets worse. Stealth. Sneakin’ around so you won’t have to share.”

  “I’d share anythin’ with you.”

  Madge swallowed. He meant what he said but he was like that, always kind. “In that case—and as l
ong as I get the biggest one—I think we can forget this little slip.”

  They were playing, Cyrus thought, playing with each other, trying to fool themselves. “Thank you. Will you join me now?”

  “Yes.” But she closed the cake box. “But we aren’t really hungry, are we?”

  He shook his head.

  “I lied when I said I wanted to talk about work. You knew that, didn’t you?”

  “You didn’t lie, you just tried to make things easier for me.” By filling in the silence while he was afraid to speak. “It is time we faced up to some things, though.” He indicated the table in the window. “Will this do?”

  She shook her head no, then changed her mind. “Yes, of course. Just fine.” This was as good a place as any.

  Without thinking, Cyrus turned off the radio. Immediately he made a move to turn it on again.

  “Leave it,” she said. The possible outcome of whatever they were about to share meant too much. He must feel it as much as she did. When she left this house tonight there might be no coming back.

  Holding a chair out for her, he asked, “Can I get you something? Iced tea, lemonade, coffee, a drink?”

  “I’d like red wine, I think. I don’t usually—”

  “Drink?” he finished for her. “I know, but a glass of wine tastes good on a night like this.”

  Madge scooted her chair closer to the table and folded her hands on top. She listened to Cyrus uncorking the wine, watched his reflection in the windows while he poured two glasses, braced his hands on the countertop with his head turned away before he stood straight and came toward her.

  “You’ve still got your coat on,” he said, and put the glasses on the table. “Let me take it for you.”

  “Thank you.” Every word sounded like a line from the wrong play. Quickly, she undid the buttons and shrugged out of the jacket. Cyrus hung it over the back of a chair. Smiling faintly, he unzipped his black windbreaker and took it off.

  Should he sit beside her, or across the table? He decided on facing her and sat down. Madge slid his glass toward him. Damn it all. He opened his mouth to breathe. What was the answer, and he didn’t mean the obvious answer?