He squinted into the brilliant colors on the lake. “I don’t see why you had to put on that much of an act. Let’s drop it. You did what you thought you had to, but I wasn’t ready to see it. I’ve been thinkin’ about somethin’ else. I don’t suppose you mentioned the pictures of Orville to Billy.”
She breathed sharply. “Why would I do that?”
“Because we need to know who took them and pushed them at you. And why.”
“I think it was that creature who came here. The cowboy clown. He’s still out there, Finn, and we don’t know what he wants.”
He didn’t want to frighten her, but she needed to be careful. “He wanted you. He’s obsessed with you—enough so he’s prepared to buy you. But he didn’t have to be the one who took the photos.”
“What if it isn’t me that freak wants? What if he wants to use me to bring Orville down? People make enemies, and Orville’s probably got more than his share.”
Finn had already thought the same thing. “If that’s the way it is, we’re stuck waiting for someone to make another move. You still don’t think Billy needs to know everything?”
She muttered something.
“What?”
“You don’t understand. I may not owe Orville much, but letting those pictures get out would make a laughingstock of him with some and curl the toes of some others. Either way, this isn’t the time. He’s got a lot going on.”
“You’re going to have to clear something up for me,” he said. “I didn’t think you gave a shit about him anymore. I thought you were divorcing him because he’s a pig.”
“Okay, I don’t want to say this, because I’m ashamed of it, but I don’t want to be the spurned wife.” She gave a short laugh. “I already am spurned, I know, but don’t expect me to get excited about someone looking at evidence of how my husband betrayed me.”
“Pride,” Finn said, and wished he could grab the word back. He couldn’t.
“You don’t have any pride?” She sounded as angry as she had a right to be. “I’ve gone through enough embarrassment at Orville’s hands. Do you blame me for wanting to slip out of this marriage without any fuss?”
“No.” This conversation was going nowhere. “You’ve decided to support Orville for the foreseeable future?”
“I explained all that to you.”
“Perhaps you did. Evidently I didn’t completely understand. I didn’t think an amicable divorce meant you had to protect a man who had mentally abused you—and physically, too, if I had to guess. Are you one of those women who will keep going back to a violent husband?”
“No! How can you ask me that? You’re right, we moved too fast—we need distance.”
“You’ve got it.”
She beat him to the “end” button.
26
Every door in the house stood open. The first guests had arrived only an hour earlier, and already the throng had grown to fill the rooms on the main floor and spill out around the pool.
Emma, balancing on four-inch pavé heels she hoped wouldn’t land her on her tush, circulated among Orville’s guests. She stayed away from him as much as possible but couldn’t avoid him when he sought her out, catching her firmly by the waist, or boyishly by the hand, and introducing her to people. There were a number she hadn’t met before.
The confident smile on his face meant things were going well. Frequently she saw him move apart from the crowd with a man or group of men, sometimes with a woman, and have a conversation that left him nodding, smiling, gesturing.
Orville looked the part of the gubernatorial candidate. He looked like a winner.
“Everything is spectacular, Emma,” Sandy said, popping a glass of champagne into Emma’s hand. She emptied a glass herself and waved it in the air, signaling to a server for a refill. “Who decorated the house?”
Emma smiled. “I did. Fred at Blossoms outdid himself with the flowers. He made the rest easy.”
“Gorgeous,” Sandy said of massed blue delphiniums and orange tiger lilies. Sprays of white stocks turned the other colors luminous and filled the place with their heady night scent.
She stood still while her glass was filled.
Orville had been careful to include useful locals. John Sims, his hands clasped behind his back, strolled around, taking in his surroundings. He arrived beside Emma and smiled. “Beautiful home and a great party,” he said. “Only one complaint.”
She raised one eyebrow.
“Where’s the parade of gorgeous single women?” He elbowed her, and she laughed. “We need a few more females who look like you and Sandy but who aren’t attached.”
“You should get out more, John, and I don’t mean for your work,” Sandy said.
John shrugged and gave her a critical appraisal. “Are you getting too thin, babe? Not the boobs, the boobs are great, but in other places?”
Rather than be angry, Sandy broke into almost hysterical laughter. Tears squeezed from the corners of her eyes, and she patted John’s cheek. “You are a naughty boy,” she said, rubbing his neck. “You aren’t supposed to be looking at another man’s wife like that. If you do, don’t talk about it.”
He looked at her seriously. “Are you okay? I didn’t think what I said was that funny.”
She laughed louder, put a hand over her mouth and quieted to bursts of giggles.
The episode made Emma uncomfortable. Why would John try to make Sandy look foolish in front of her? And that was the only reason she could think of for what he had said.
“Hello, Emma,” a deep, charmingly accented voice said from behind her. Patrick Damalis, his mane of dark curly hair drawn back into a tail at his nape, moved forward to join her, Sandy and John. “I don’t see you often enough. That husband of yours must keep you locked away. I don’t blame him, but you are too lovely to waste.” He nodded at Sandy.
“We allow ourselves to be too busy,” Emma said politely. “It’s good to see you, too, Patrick.”
He had bright blue eyes and a manner that suggested he considered a lot of attention his due. “Orville will be a great governor.”
Emma inclined her head and hoped she looked pleased.
Damalis watched her closely enough to heat her cheeks. “I’ll make him bring you to see me at the club. You’d enjoy yourself.”
“Thank you,” Emma said, with no intention of going near the place. “Have you met John Sims? John has a couple of houses in the middle of town. He’s also a pharmaceutical rep.”
Damalis shot out a hand, and John took it. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about membership at your club,” John said. “I travel, but from what I hear, it would be fun when I’m in town.”
“Carl thinks a great deal of John,” Sandy said. “I’m sure he would speak for him.”
“I’ll speak for him, too,” Emma said, smiling. “Not that I suppose that counts for anything.”
“What you say counts a great deal, Emma.” Damalis’s nostrils flared while he looked John over. John carried himself like the comfortably positioned man he was, and Damalis’s type responded to confident people. He took a card from his inside breast pocket and gave it to John. “Show this to the receptionist at the club.”
John took the card and gave Damalis one of his own. “I’ll drop by sometime and take advantage of you.” He was the only one who chuckled at his small joke.
Damalis excused himself.
“What do you think of him?” John asked, his voice pitched low.
“I don’t know him, really,” Emma said. “Orville seems to like him a lot.”
Sandy rubbed the long stem of her glass between her palms. “He’s done very well. It’s a good idea to be one of his group.”
“I need a drink,” John said. He gave a sloppy salute and drifted away.
In the center of a spectacular buffet table stood the ice sculpture Orville had requested, a reproduction of the tall capitol building in Lafayette. Emma gave it frequent, nervous glances as it showed signs of blurring around the edges. S
he had no idea at what point the sight of the building in meltdown would become embarrassing.
“How long do I dare let the capital melt on that table?” Emma whispered to Sandy. “It could get ugly.”
Sandy tipped back her head and laughed, showing her perfect teeth and pulling attention from every direction. “I could say what I really think and tell you to let the thing turn into a puddle, but you wouldn’t do that, even for me. It’s got another hour, doesn’t it?” She wore red, a perfectly wrinkle-free gown encrusted with small disks that turned her into a vision reminiscent of a spectacularly shaped scarlet fish. Few men in the room didn’t look in her direction often, and more than one woman cast admiring, or envious, glances at her.
“Maybe. When Holly comes back in, I’ll ask her to keep an eye on it, too. What do you think of the food?”
“This town never saw anything like it before,” Sandy said. “Just look at the way people are eating—that should tell you how the food is.”
“True,” Emma said.
Sandy tucked a curl behind her ear. “Annie’s the genius with food, I gather. Apparently she’s got some notion of having a dance hall, of all things. A dance hall with great food.”
Emma inclined her head. “She seems so quiet.” She laughed. “Just proves how you never know what someone else dreams about.”
“I thought Finn was coming and bringing Eileen,” Sandy said, craning her neck to search the crowd.
“This house wouldn’t take many more people,” Emma said, avoiding Sandy’s comment. Keeping her eyes away from the door and not watching for him took almost more restraint than she had.
He wouldn’t come, not after their last exchange.
“Ladies?” Carl bore down on them with an older man of many chins in tow. “Rupert Douglas insists on meeting you. And what Rupert wants, Rupert gets.” Carl’s laugh was too loud.
“Good evening, Mr. Douglas,” Emma said, offering her hand. “I’m Emma Lachance.”
“And this is my gorgeous wife, Sandy,” Carl added.
Douglas draped an arm around Emma and brought his face close to hers. “Rupe to you, sweetheart. Hi there, Sandy.” He swayed and gestured with the glass in his spare hand. “Some guys get all the luck. Not that Cissy’s so bad.” He winked and blew a kiss to a redhead practically too young even to be his daughter.
“Tell me about yourself,” Emma said dutifully.
Carl snapped his fingers and pointed to Rupe. A waiter materialized with a decanter on a tray and filled his glass with pale gold liquor.
No ice, Emma noted.
“Rupe’s the CEO of Bolin International.”
“Are you in plastics?” Sandy asked, and giggled.
Rupe chucked her under the chin and took a good look down the front of her dress. “We do a lot of things, sweetie. What we aren’t in would take less time to tell you.”
“Isn’t Bolin somethin’ to do with munitions?” Emma asked, remembering something she’d read.
Rupert Douglas gave her his full attention. “Like I said, we do a lot of things. I like that husband of yours. Governor can be just one step to bigger things, much bigger things.” He put his fleshy mouth close to her ear. “Try to make sure he keeps his nose publicly clean. That boy of yours likes to play. If you need someone to talk to, I’m here for you, Emma. Or even if you don’t need to talk. Okay?”
“You’re very kind,” Emma said through her teeth. She could smell garlic and scotch on his breath.
Carl slapped the man on the back. “It means a great deal to us to have you on our side,” he said, his face absolutely serious, his eyes filled with sincerity.
Douglas studied him. “You’re a comer,” he said. “I hope Lachance knows what he’s got in you. You’ve got a bright future.”
Emma wished she could disappear and find herself somewhere quiet, where there were no phonies.
She saw Billy Meche and Blanche, and grinned as she excused herself.
“You look dapper,” she told Billy when she reached him. “And you should make this man take you out in pretty dresses more often, Blanche.”
“I’m only here to keep an eye on the silver,” Billy said, straight-faced.
Blanche, a surprisingly ethereal-looking little woman beside her solid husband, leaned on him and said, “You’re just awful, Billy Meche. I can’t take him anywhere, Emma.”
They chatted, and Emma relaxed—until she glanced across the room and ceased to hear a word.
A very tall man in black, his shirt bright white against his tanned skin, stood in the vestibule, his jacket pushed back and his hands sunk in his pockets. He planted his feet apart, and the muscles in his legs flexed visibly.
Finn Duhon and his lovely, shy sister made an arresting pair.
“More guests,” Emma managed to say. “Excuse me for a minute.” She left the Meches, and walked toward Finn and Eileen.
Eileen in a black sheath could steal most shows. She glowed the way a woman glowed when she felt her best and knew it was good enough. Finn stood a little apart, watching her while she talked to Orville’s doctor, Roger French, and his date. Finn’s smile suggested he enjoyed seeing Eileen attract attention.
Emma pressed a hand to her breast. She struggled with her jumpy reaction to Finn. When he saw her, he turned completely in her direction, and his hands came slowly out of his pockets. With each step she took, his eyes appeared darker, more unreadable. His lips came together, and the laugh lines on his face seemed deeper, harder.
“Hi, Emma,” Finn said. Agony and ecstasy. Oh yeah. He had a whole new use for the phrase. It described this moment, standing feet from Emma in her white satin gown. He thought they called the way it was made bias, or on the bias, and it caused the dress to cling everywhere a dress ought to cling on a figure like that. She wore diamond studs in her ears but no other jewelry, and her hair was loose and crazy-curled.
His resolution wasn’t going to happen. He would not be able to stay away from her, and from the expression she showed him, if he didn’t go to her, it was only a matter of time before she came knocking on his door.
“Finn,” she said.
Not a ghost of a smile on her face.
“We’re late,” he said. “Forgive us.”
Eileen turned around. “It was my fault,” she said, and hunched her shoulders. “I got cold feet, and Finn had to drag me out in the end.”
“With Aaron pushin’,” Finn added, smiling at his sister. He loved seeing her dressed up and being appreciated.
“You look lovely, Eileen,” Emma said, and kissed her cheek. Turning to Finn, she put out a hand, and he shook it. She smiled now, straight into his eyes. “I’m glad you both came.” She dropped her voice. “Very glad.”
“So am I. Some things are too good to miss.”
French tapped Eileen’s shoulder and asked if he could get her a drink. She turned back to him.
“We’d better not do this,” Emma murmured.
Finn put his hands carefully back into his pockets. “We’re goin’ to have to do somethin’, and soon, cher.”
“Be patient with me.”
He looked at his feet and said, “I doubt if I have any choice, not anymore.”
“I never intended to put you in a position like this,” Emma said.
Finn stuck his thumbs in his belt. “I want to hold you, Emma.”
There was no way others would overhear, but she glanced around anyway.
“Look at me,” he told her.
She did so slowly. “People are goin’ to notice us,” she said, and her eyes crinkled. “I ought to care more.”
A bell rang.
Finn made himself look in the direction of the sound. From the direction of the kitchen, a server pushed a huge trolley ahead of him. Blue ribbons floated from a point atop orange chiffon draped over the trolley like a sheik’s tent.
Annie walked forward. In chefs’ whites, with her hair pinned tightly back, she looked all business. In the center of the living room, she stood
beside the cart and waited while the lights were lowered.
Candlelight flickered over expectant faces.
“You know how to put on a party, Mrs. Lachance,” Finn said softly. “Look at that cousin of mine. You’d think she did this stuff every day.”
“Somethin’ tells me the time could come when she does,” Emma said.
Annie glanced over her shoulder, then at the other server, who nodded. Between them, they took hold of the chiffon where it came together in blue ribbon streamers and whipped it off like a flock of colorful birds in flight.
Clapping guests crowded forward, and Finn risked moving at Emma’s shoulder to look with the rest. Sighs and exclamations whispered through the group.
A dessert extravaganza rose in layers on top of floor-length white organza cloth. Finn said, “Wow,” then drew his lips back from his teeth. “Cover it again,” he said loudly, and reached for the chiffon drape.
Too late. A woman screamed. He saw someone collapse at the same moment as Billy Meche strode forward, taking a radio from his hip.
A few people fell back. More held poses like statues. Soft crying wrenched at him.
On one side, protruding from beneath the layers of desserts, whipped cream and fruit decorated a woman’s head and neck. Slices of kiwi hid her eyes. Her hands, arranged palms up, supported bunches of sugared grapes, and more grapes draped her ankles and feet.
Tiers of pastries hid the rest of Holly Chandall’s body.
27
“I hope I never have to deal with another crime scene like that one,” Billy said to Finn. Hours had passed since the two of them had moved people back from what would always come to Finn’s mind as an elaborately decorated funeral pyre.
“A nightmare,” Finn said. “In a lot of ways.” Billy had given him orders as if Finn had been on the force, and Finn followed them until reinforcements arrived, both from the Pointe Judah police department and the East Arcadia Parish sheriff’s department.
Now Billy sat in Orville Lachance’s study, behind Orville’s desk, while Finn lounged in a leather chair. “The best thing we’ve got on our side,” Billy said, “is that most likely she’d only been dead a few minutes when she was wheeled in. They said her temperature hadn’t gone down that much, considerin’ she was lyin’ on a refrigerated trolley. I still can’t get over it. We were all millin’ around, fillin’ our faces and drinkin’, and she was dyin’ under our noses.”
Body of Evidence Page 26