The Nicci Beauvoir Collection: The Complete Nicci Beauvoir Series

by Alexandrea Weis

  “Just get back here as soon as you can.”

  “I won’t be long. I’ll just go over there, talk to him for a little while, and leave.”

  Dallas grinned at me. “Be careful what you say to him.”

  “What do you think I’m going to do? Blurt out that David is alive,” I argued.

  “I seem to remember when I was posing as your boyfriend last Christmas, you were the one who blurted out to your father that I wasn’t the architect I claimed to be, but a spy sent to find David’s killer. Anytime you’re around your family, Nicci, secrets are usually divulged.”

  I ignored him and started toward the back door. Then something David had said to me flashed across my mind. I stopped and turned back to Dallas.

  “Why didn’t you ever tell me you’ve always wanted to take over Simon’s organization?”

  “Would it have mattered? When I went to work at my family’s boatyard, I thought I was done with that life. So did you.” He ran his hand over the back of his neck. “Nicci, I don’t know what your problem is right now, but you need to realize that there’s a lot more at stake here than just you and David. If we get rid of Simon, there will be a huge mess to clean up. Our wants are immaterial. First the job and then your life.”

  “What about your life when this is over? What will you be getting yourself into?”

  His frosty eyes locked on mine. “I am the job, Nicci. That’s my reality.” He motioned to the back door. “You’d better go and get ready. Take a shower, too,” Dallas directed. “You reek of oil paint.”

  ***

  After a shower and a change of clothes, I headed out the door and made my way to Canal Street. I planned on taking one of the red trolleys down St. Charles Avenue to my father’s home on Jackson Avenue. As I sauntered down Royal Street, I took in the handful of tourists beginning to fill the sidewalks. All around me shopkeepers were opening their doors as street musicians were setting up for another day of entertaining visitors to our struggling city.

  Once I boarded the streetcar, I had a seat by an open window and enjoyed the caress of the cool spring breeze against my skin. The gentle rocking motion of the trolley car as it traveled down the tracks, lulled my frazzled nerves into a tranquil state. Throughout the brief ride, my mind drifted back to the previous night with David. I could feel the blush rising on my cheeks when I thought of his naked body next to mine. Then I was reminded of all the things he had said to me, and my blush faded as my exasperation returned. I became so distracted by my recollections that I almost missed my stop.

  While I made the short walk from the streetcar line to my father’s house, I took in the stately homes along Jackson Avenue. When my father’s white antebellum mansion rose before me, an uneasy feeling settled over me. I was nervous about facing the disapproving glances of my worried father. I chuckled, pulling my keys from purse. After all the intrigue that had filled my life during the past few days, dealing with my father should be the least of my concerns.

  After entering the house, I threw my purse and keys on the small table by the front door. I knew the best place to find my father was in the kitchen with his newspaper and coffee in hand. I had started down the hallway when I heard the sounds of laughter coming from the other side of the kitchen door. A woman’s soft giggle, intermingled with my father’s deep bellow, made me quickly hasten my steps. When I pushed the kitchen door open, I found my father and Betty Webster, sitting at the kitchen table, and dressed only in their robes.

  “Nicci!” My father stood from the table, nearly dropping the coffee mug in his hand. “What are you doing here?”

  I could not help but smile at his obvious embarrassment. “I still have a key, Dad.” I nodded to Betty. “Hello, Betty.” I leaned against the doorframe. “I came by to talk to you about why I missed my appointment with Dr. Appell, but I see I should have called first.”

  Betty focused her light blue eyes on me and smiled sweetly. “It’s not what you think, dear.”

  My father put his coffee mug down on the table. “Of course it is what she thinks, Betty. My daughter is a grown woman and she should know about us.”

  “Betty, it’s fine, really. It’s better than fine.” I smiled at my father. “I’ve wanted him to find someone for a long time. I’m happy for both of you.”

  “Why don’t we all go to brunch?” Dad nervously offered as he came up to me. “It will give you two a chance to get to know each other.”

  “Don’t you have to go to the office?” I probed.

  Dad shrugged. “I can take the day off. I think I deserve it.”

  I raised my eyebrows in surprise. “You haven’t taken a day off since I was ten and sprained my ankle when Uncle Lance tried to teach me how to roller skate.”

  He tilted his head thoughtfully to the side. “Maybe I should change my ways. Have more fun.”

  I looked from my father to Betty. “Why don’t you take Betty out to brunch, Dad? I think she would enjoy that. You two don’t need me tagging along.”

  I had always seen my father as a loner; silently mourning the passing of the woman he loved while refusing all others who wished to pursue his heart. It turned out my father had been human after all, and his need for companionship had been no different from anyone else’s.

  “I’ll just leave you two to get ready.”

  I was about to exit the kitchen when my father stopped me.

  “Wait, Nic,” he pleaded. “At least have some coffee with us.”

  I turned back to him. “No thanks, Dad. I should be getting back.”

  “Perhaps we can all get together another time,” Betty suggested.

  I nodded at her as my father walked up to me.

  “How did you get here?” he asked.

  I shrugged. “Streetcar.”

  He started for the kitchen door. “I’ll drive you back.”

  I patted his arm. “Finish your coffee. I’ll take the streetcar back to the Quarter.” I kissed his cheek. “Don’t worry about me, Dad. You don’t have to worry about me anymore,” I whispered in his ear.

  He stepped back and furrowed his brow. “Do you mean you’ve sorted everything out between you and Dallas? Is that what’s going on?” He paused, examining my face. “To look at you I would think everything is fine. You’re glowing, Nicci.”

  I silently reprimanded myself. I needed to work harder at hiding my emotions. I frowned at him. “Dad, you’re exaggerating.”

  “I’ve been worried about you. You haven’t been yourself lately. I thought it was just stress. First, you and Dallas moved out of the house. Then, you missed your appointment with Dr. Appell this morning, which is not at all like you. Now you come in here looking like you haven’t looked since…well, since David was alive.” He folded his arms over his chest. His green eyes lost and confused. “I’m just trying to understand what’s going on with you.”

  “Dad, one day all of this will make sense, but for right now there are things I can’t tell you.”

  “Can’t tell me or won’t tell me?” he questioned in a deep voice. “We were always so close and I hate to think that we’ve grown so far apart. You used to talk to me about everything. Now I feel as if you don’t want to confide in me anymore. When did you stop needing me, Nicci?”

  I threw my arms around his neck and hugged him. “Just give me some time to figure things out, Dad. I will never stop needing you,” I murmured against his cheek.

  From my purse in the hallway, I heard my cell phone ringing. I quickly left my father’s side and ran down the hall to the table by the front door. I pulled my phone from my purse and saw Dallas’s cell phone number light up the caller ID.

  “Dallas?”

  My father came down the hallway to my side.

  “Nicci,” Dallas said in a strained voice. “Get back here as soon as possible.”

  A sense of dread rose up from my toes. “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t want to say over an open line. Just get your ass back here,” he hissed into the phone.<
br />
  “I’ll get Dad to take me—”

  “No,” Dallas shouted. “Keep Bill out of this. Come back now!” Then the line went dead.

  “What is it, Nicci?” my father pressed, walking up to me. “You’re as white as a ghost.”

  “I’ve got to go,” I said as I grabbed my purse and ran for the door.

  My father followed me to the front door. “Wait, Nicci. There is something I need to tell you.”

  I didn’t stop to hear what he had to say. I ran out of the house and headed down the shell drive to the street. I ran until I caught the next streetcar heading back to the French Quarter.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “David’s here,” Dallas announced when I came in Val’s front door. “Seems Gerard showed up at his place about an hour ago. David fought with him and ended up putting a kitchen knife in his throat,” he explained, dragging me through the living room.

  My heart stopped. “What?”

  Dallas pulled me into the hallway and let go of my hand. “David’s in the kitchen. He’s been beaten to a pulp, but he’ll survive. I’ve got to go and find out what’s happened. Stay with him and don’t let anyone in the front door.”

  “All right, Dallas.” I reached for the wall to steady myself.

  Dallas placed his hand on my shoulder. “Nicci, this means Simon knows you’re involved with David. He must have followed you to his carriage house at some point. I’m going over to David’s and take a look around. Keep your phone with you. If anything happens, call me and not the police. We’ll never be able to explain any of this.” He nodded down the hallway. “Take care of him. He needs some fixing up.”

  He turned away and quickly headed down the hallway to the front door.

  When I ran into the kitchen, I found David trying to stay upright in a chair by the breakfast table. His white button down shirt was halfway open and covered in blood. He was holding a bag of ice on the right side of his face. I walked over to the table and sat down next to him. Then, I saw his .357 Magnum on the table in front of him. I gently brushed the comma of wavy, brown hair away from his face and inspected the damage.

  His right eye was almost closed shut and his bottom lip was swollen and oozing blood. I could see a large purple bruise forming on the left side of his rib cage. When I touched his red and swollen left hand, he stirred.

  He opened his left eye and lowered the bag of ice from his face.

  “What happened?” I demanded, inspecting his bruised right cheek.

  He winced slightly. “Gerard showed up when I was painting. I thought it was George coming to see me. He jumped me on the stairs. We wrestled all over the first floor until I finally stabbed him in the kitchen. He had a gun but I knocked it away somewhere in the living room. The house is a mess. After grabbing my ID and my gun, I got the hell out of there.” He sat up and grabbed his left arm. “Son of a bitch hits like an anvil. He dislocated my shoulder when he pinned me to the floor.”

  My heart ached as I watched David struggling to get comfortable before me. We had been through so much and in an instant he could have been taken from me…again. The thought was too much to comprehend. If I ever lost David for good, I knew I would not survive it.

  “Where’s Dallas?” he questioned, gaping about the kitchen.

  “He went to your place.”

  David struggled to stand. “I should go with him.”

  I got up from my chair and went to help him. The blood drained from his face as he stood.

  “David you need a doctor. You need x-rays of your shoulder and face. We need to make sure he didn’t do any damage to all of your reconstructive work.” I pushed him back down in his chair.

  “No more doctors, Nicci. I’ve had enough of them.” He sat down and struggled with his breath. “Anyway, I’ve been hit enough to know when something is broken and when it isn’t.” He took in a painful breath. “You’re a nurse. Get some booze to help with the pain. Then we’re going to have to put my shoulder back into place.”

  “David, I don’t know if I can do that. I’ve never put a shoulder back into place before.”

  “I know how to do it,” he asserted. “I’ll talk you through it.”

  He grimaced while he slipped his shirt from around his shoulder. A purple bruise covered nearly his entire left shoulder and part of his chest. He took in a deep breath and froze as the color drained from his face. Very slowly he let his breath out. When he finally relaxed again, I could see beads of sweat forming on his upper lip.

  “I could really use that drink about now, Nicci,” David mumbled when his face paled to a deathly white.

  I went to Val’s liquor cabinet and surveyed the contents. I grabbed a bottle of brandy and brought it to David.

  He took the bottle from me and looked at it. “Brandy?” He frowned at me. “Darling, I’m not a St. Bernard.” He handed the bottle back to me. “Real men drink whiskey when they’re hurt.”

  I snatched the bottle from him. “Excuse me for not knowing the appropriate alcoholic beverage to serve after having the crap beaten out of you. They didn’t teach us bartending for broken bones in nursing school.” I went back to the cabinet and retrieved a bottle of Glenlevit Irish Whiskey.

  David half-smiled at the bottle I handed to him. “That’s more like it. Something a man can get drunk on.”

  I left David in the kitchen, putting back a few fast swigs of whiskey, while I searched the house for scissors, tape, and hydrogen peroxide. I was leaving the first floor bathroom when I thought I heard the sound of the back door by the kitchen closing. I figured it must have been my imagination because David could not even stand without my help and no one else was in the house. I collected my materials and walked as quickly as I could back toward the kitchen. But as I emerged from the hall, I nearly dropped my armload of supplies when I saw who was standing next to David.

  “Well, kid,” Uncle Lance proclaimed, nodding to David. “I guess you found your ghost.”

  “It’s good to see you too, Lance,” David admitted. “You will excuse me if I don’t stand up.”

  I dumped the medical supplies in my arms on the table in front of David. “Uncle Lance, what in the hell are you doing here?”

  Uncle Lance held up some papers in his hand. “You told me to drop off the medical records I had for you. I still have my own set of keys to Valie’s, so I thought I would just leave them on the kitchen table.” He nodded at David. “Guess we don’t need them anymore. Good to see you, David. So how have you been?”

  David held up the bottle of whiskey in his hand. “I’ve had better days, Lance.”

  Uncle Lance swerved his green eyes to me. “You should have told me, Nicci. You should have said something to your father and me.”

  “Nicci couldn’t say anything to anyone, Lance. She has kept me a secret in order to spare everyone a lot of unnecessary problems,” David explained, struggling with each breath as he forced the words out.

  “I guess some of those problems have to do with Simon La Roy,” Uncle Lance surmised.

  “Good guess,” David remarked. “He’ll kill anyone who gets in his way or at least tries to.”

  Uncle Lance leveled his eyes suspiciously on David. “Is your resurrection all of his doing or all of yours?”

  David frowned at Uncle Lance. “Simon is the mastermind here. He thought he was protecting his property and has been keeping me under wraps for a while. I’ve recently made other plans for myself.”

  Uncle Lance did a quick inspection of David’s injuries. “You’ll need to pop that shoulder back into place. Gonna hurt like a son of a bitch.”

  David took another swig of whiskey. “I know.”

  Uncle Lance scanned the supplies I had just dumped on the table. “Nicci, get me some towels and a big role of duct tape. I think Valie keeps some in the cabinet beneath the kitchen sink.”

  I stared dumbfounded at my uncle. “Duct tape?”

  “A thousand and one uses for the stuff. I’ve popped quite a few joints bac
k into place, kid. I’ll show you how it’s done.” He bent over and palpated David’s naked chest. “I’d say you got some bruised ribs too, by the looks of it.” He glanced up at David. “The guy who did this? Any chance he will be coming to finish the job?” he questioned.

  “Gerard. A hired thug of Simon’s, but not a problem anymore,” David told him. He grimaced when Uncle Lance pushed his fingers into the purple bruise on his chest.

  I darted around the kitchen, grabbing dishtowels and duct tape, and listened to David’s account of his fight with Gerard.

  “After Gerard surprised me in my studio, I fought him down the stairs. When I finally got him in the kitchen, I got ahold of one of the long kitchen knives from the butcher block and stabbed him in the throat. I made sure he was dead before I grabbed my things and hauled ass out of there. I came here because I knew I needed help.”

  “Who owns the place where you were staying? Do they know about any of this?” Uncle Lance inquired.

  David nodded. “A local gallery owner, George Elliot, was lending me his carriage house. He’s a friend and knew of my past. His was one of a number of places I used to hide from Simon. Gerard had George’s keys on him. I figure George is probably dead.”

  “When the cops find your friend, they’ll go to his house. When they find your place ripped apart and Gerard’s body, they’ll be looking for the guy who walked away.”

  David sucked in a painful breath as Uncle Lance gently lifted his left arm and placed it on the table before him. “My new identity is Dan Goldvarg. I’m supposed to be an art dealer out of Dallas. I’ve got my ID with me, but there are paintings signed by Goldvarg still in the house,” David reported between gritted teeth.

  Uncle Lance frowned and took the roll of duct tape from me. He pulled a long strip of tape off the spool and placed it on the table in front of him. “We need to make sure the cops don’t find anything in that house.”

  I stared at my uncle. “How?”

  My uncle apprehensively eyed David. “I’ve got some friends that can make it look like nothing happened there. Even get rid of the body for you, but it will cost you.”