A Cold Day in Hell

by Stella Cameron

  “Bolshoi Ballet,” Sabine corrected him promptly.

  Leland, who had definitely had one or two more than was a good idea, faced the bar and raised his glass. He was quiet, but not for long enough. “Did y’all hear about Emma Duhon having a turn over at Ona’s last night? They reckon she flipped out in the parking lot.”

  Busy filling orders, Sarah listened while she ran back and forth. Sabine did the same but she skidded to a halt at Leland’s question. “A turn? She was attacked. And she didn’t flip out, she was just scared.”

  “Not the way I heard it. She said a bunch of stuff happened only it doesn’t look as if it did. No evidence, is what I heard.”

  “Rusty,” Sabine said. “You were there. You saw what happened. Emma was under a truck and all scraped up.”

  “Yeah,” Rusty said. “The police are looking into it. Less said before they’re finished, the better.”

  “A whole bunch of us saw it.” Sabine’s voice rose and her cheekbones grew ruddy. “When’s the last time you were pregnant and someone knocked you under a truck, Leland Garolfo?”

  “Ah, don’t come on with that stuff. We all know women get funny when they’re pregnant. They imagine things.”

  At once, Sarah dropped the cloth she’d been using and put an arm around Sabine’s stiff shoulders. “Don’t waste your time with him,” she told her. “You’re an idiot, Leland.”

  “I’m just tellin’ it like it is,” he said. He laughed and swayed and tossed down the rest of his drink. “Whips, I heard. She said he went after her with whips.” His empty glass shot across the bar at Sabine and he threw down more money.

  Sabine picked up the glass and Sarah quickly removed it from her fingers. “You don’t want any more, do you, Leland?”

  “You bet your sweet tush, I do, don’t I honey?” Honey was Gracie, who got treated to a pinch on her rear.

  “Keep your hands off me,” Gracie said.

  Sarah glanced at Rusty who watched the pair with no expression on his face. She checked to see where the bouncer, Ron Labeaux, was and saw him observing, jiggling slightly on the toes of his rubber-soled shoes.

  The place was loud and getting louder. Good music, good eats, good times—just the way she had planned for it to be. But tonight was the first time she’d felt there could be violence and Sarah’s heart beat too fast and hard.

  She caught Rusty’s eye and he must have seen her nervousness. He took Leland’s Stetson off and grinned at him when Leland’s head jerked around. “I wouldn’t want you and the Gracie getting into a scuffle,” he said. “’Sides, the show’s gettin’ a bit heated for us small-town folks.”

  The light in Leland’s eyes turned purely mean. He straightened up and wiped the back of a hand across his mouth. “You sure you want to mess with me, Barnes?”

  “No. But if I have to, I will,” Rusty said. He had dark red hair, green eyes, a cool expression, and a reporter’s unshakable persistence when he needed it. “Looks like you’re forcing yourself on Gracie. Maybe she doesn’t like bruises on her butt.”

  Sarah held her breath. From the corner of her eye she saw Rob Labeaux move a little closer.

  A man came through the door and pushed his way toward the bar. Maybe six-foot even with the kind of brawny build that came from physical labor, he had thick and curly dark hair, graying at the sideburns, and one of those hard-jawed faces that was all-American pleasant, but forgettable. He reminded Sarah of someone but she couldn’t think who.

  Of the cluster at the bar, Rusty Barnes was the only one whose attention focused as if he knew the man. Rusty frowned and checked around the room as if someone else should be interested in the newcomer.

  Sabine looked up from polished the bar and smiled at the man. Just as fast, the smile dissolved. “You eating, or just drinking?” she asked, her face turned away from him. There were a dozen or so tables ranged around the dance floor and the kitchen put out what the menu boasted were “Big bites and bigger bites,” a spicy selection of local food.

  “Okay if I have a snack at the bar?” the man said. He shot out a hand. Sabine ignored it. He looked at his palm, shrugged and said, “Chuck Moggeridge. I’ve been away a couple of years. Don’t know who remembers me and who doesn’t. I see some familiar faces. Hi, Rusty.”

  There was no doubt that Sabine remembered him and she surely didn’t look happy about it. The rest of the group checked him out and Rusty said, “Yo, Chuck. You still on the rigs?”

  “I’m takin’ at least a year off from the Gulf,” he said. “Time to get to know my family again.”

  “What family?” Sabine said, swinging around to look at him. “You and Eileen are divorced.”

  Chuck ignored this and said, “You got Turbodog?” to Sarah, who nodded and poured his beer.

  “I remember you,” Sabine said, tightening the corners of her eyes. “I’d have thought you’d stay away.”

  “This place is nice,” Chuck said, indicating the club, and as if Sabine hadn’t spoken. “Who’s the boss?”

  “I am,” Sarah said. “We’ve been open a few months.”

  “I bet you get everyone in town in here,” Chuck said.

  “Pretty much.”

  “You know my wife, Eileen?”

  “She’s not your wife,” Sabine said. She looked tense. “What’re you really doing back here, Chuck? I thought you’d gone on to bigger and better things.”

  He looked at her fully for the first time since he arrived in the club. “A man doesn’t always grow up quick enough to make the best of what he’s got,” he said. “I finally figured out I left the best things I ever had behind.”

  “Sweet,” Sabine muttered. “All you’re going to find here is trouble. Eileen’s got someone else. She’s also got a good business and she’s doing nicely without you. She isn’t going to want you hanging around.”

  Sarah had grown really warm under the collar. One of the things she and Delia had discussed before signing on the line for the Boardroom was that there would be nights like this, when the drink was in and the wit was out and things got nasty.

  On the dance floor, the crowd swung and stepped, each couple with their signature moves, but all doing forms of the same dance. Colors shifted all over. Laughter came from every direction. A rack of men’s undershorts—Sarah’s answer to a suggestion that the Boardroom be decorated with women’s bras—stretched across a space behind the band. All donated warm, they bore the owners’ names and were up for sale—all proceeds to charity.

  People had a simple Louisiana good time there. Sarah turned from the glaring match between Chuck and Sabine, and tried to let herself enjoy the spectacle of a successful venture.

  “I’ll be going to the little girls’ room,” Gracie said. “You thinking of going home any time soon, Rusty?”

  Sarah’s attention shot back to the crabby gathering around the bar.

  “You bet,” Rusty said. “I’ve got to be at work early.”

  “I’ll be glad to take you,” Leland said to Gracie. “You take off, Barnes.”

  Gracie faced Leland with her hands on her hips. “You’re pushing it,” she said. “Quit. I’m not interested in you.”

  She edged between people, sideways, and Chuck shot out an arm to stop her.

  He smiled. “You’re a real looker. How come I missed you around town?”

  She turned red. “I guess you got unlucky. Excuse me.”

  Sarah met Rusty’s blank stare again but then noticed a subtle change in his expression. His regard turned speculative.

  For now, all she wanted was a break in the poisonous exchanges happening in front of her.

  Gracie left for the ladies’ room and Leland looked after her with hot, possessive intent.

  “You need to remember that Gracie does her own thing,” Rusty said to Chuck. “She’s not a woman who responds to crude approaches.”

  Chuck shrugged, tipping his beer glass. He closed his eyes in appreciation. “I’ll try to remember that,” he said.

&nb
sp; “Can I get anybody anything?” Sabine asked loudly. “We’ve got a lot of empty glasses around here.”

  “I’m leaving soon,” Rusty said.

  Leland rocked his glass back and forth a few times, considering, then pushed it toward Sabine. “Same,” he said. “How about a shot to go with that beer, Chuck…Moggeridge, is it?”

  “Yes, please. And, yeah. Chuck Moggeridge. Call me Chuck.”

  “Moggeridge isn’t a name from around here,” Leland said.

  Chuck shook his head. “Sure isn’t. My dad worked on the rigs before me. We moved to Mississippi from Arkansas when I was a kid. I ended up here. Nice place.”

  Chuck shrugged, tipping his beer glass. He closed his eyes in appreciation.

  “You just hanging out in Pointe Judah?” Leland asked Chuck.

  “I want to find something to do. Money goes soon enough if all you do is spend it.”

  Leland looked him up and down. “Done any construction?”

  “Some.”

  “Come out and see me at The Willows in the morning. Know where that is?”

  “Sure,” Chuck said. “Everyone around here does.”

  “Come to the office in the morning. I’ll find something for you.”

  Sabine gave Sarah a poke in the back and whispered, “Don’t they call that an unholy alliance?”

  “Mmm.” Sarah smiled.

  Sabine nodded at two men who had just walked into the Boardroom and shouldered their way to the bar. “What’ll it be?” she said.

  “You available, blondie?” one of the guys asked. Blond himself, twenty-something and built like a fireplug, he doffed a sweat-stained tan Stetson and waggled his heavy eyebrows at Sarah.

  A happy smile on her face, Sabine said, “Careful what you say to Sarah, she’s a chemist, y’know.”

  “And I’m a Cooper,” came the rapid reply. The man slapped his knee, guffawed and elbowed the man beside him who had an equally good laugh. “Ron Cooper, ma’am. You ain’t so bad yourself now I take a good look at you.”

  Grinning to herself, Sarah turned back to unloading clean glasses. Sabine could take care of herself and if they ever had trouble, there was Ron and enough brawny regulars to handle things.

  “Hey, blondie chemist,” the comedian bawled. “I wanna buy you a drink.”

  “No,” Sabine said. “It’s not her name, it’s what she is. She’s a chemist who happens to own this place. All day long she cuts up specimens. I hear you’re short of those, hey, Sarah? Specimens to cut up, that is.”

  Sabine had her own sense of humor.

  Sarah was a chemist at one of her adoptive mother Delia Board’s labs just out of Pointe Judah. She worked on whipping up cosmetics formulas. Animals weren’t used in the process. She’d never thought of dissecting humans but now she took a good look at Cooper with his sagging grin, the idea developed appeal.

  “You’re joshing me,” Cooper said. “Chemists don’t look like you, blondie. You’re a looker.”

  Apparently he liked her short, spiked hair and the makeup job she felt was her duty, given her occupation.

  “She’s too tall for you,” the other man said. “Too thin.”

  “Nice eyes, though,” Cooper said. “Nothing like a pair of big blue eyes, unless it’s a pair of big casabas.” He stared at her chest.

  “She’s got those,” his analytical buddy said. “I like more hip, myself, though.”

  “Okay, boys.” The group hadn’t seen Matt Boudreaux come in with Angel. “Order what you want—politely—and move away. Or leave.” He wasn’t in uniform, but Matt assumed typical cop stance, feet apart, hands on hips.

  Matt was a commanding man. He and Angel made a formidable pair.

  “We was just joshin’,” the blond guy said and winked.

  Angel leaned forward and caught Leland’s eye. The man straightened up and cleared his throat. He gave what passed for a respectful nod.

  “Aren’t these two of ours?” Angel said, indicating the newly arrived jokers. He looked at them. “You out at The Willows, boys?”

  Both men nodded and Sarah expected them to start pawing the floor with their boots.

  “Get home and sober up,” Angel said. “If you work for Duhon, you work sober and smart. You be on the job that way first thing. Got that?”

  “Yessir,” they chorused and almost fell over each other getting out of the place. They didn’t even notice Gracie when she passed them on the way back to the bar.

  She glanced at Matt and Angel who both nodded. Once she passed Angel, she craned her neck to look over her shoulder at him, and he must have felt her eyes on him. He stared back at her and frowned.

  “Time to go,” Rusty said, and left with Gracie.

  Angel turned back to Leland. “Was Bucky Smith on the job today?”

  Leland shook his head slowly. “Don’t even know who he is.”

  “You sure?” Matt said.

  “Yeah.” Leland pursed his mouth. He turned around and pulled Chuck Moggeridge forward.

  And Sarah held her breath. Sabine lifted her heavy braids off her neck with both hands and muttered, “Matt knows about him. Does Angel?”

  “No idea,” Sarah said. “Poor Eileen. I never met this creep before, but he’s a loser.”

  “Big-time,” Sabine said. “He just about ruined Eileen’s life.”

  “We could use more hands, couldn’t we, boss?” Leland said to Angel.

  Angel had hooked his wallet from a pocket and was taking out some bills. He looked up and saw Chuck—at just about the same time as Matt’s eyes settled on the man.

  “Moggeridge,” Matt snapped. “What are you doin’ here?”

  “The henhouse got left open,” Sabine said under her breath. “Get ready to collect feathers.”

  Angel and Chuck locked eyes. “It’s a free country,” Chuck told Matt. “I like Pointe Judah.”

  “This is Chuck Moggeridge—”

  “I know who he is,” Angel said, interrupting Leland, and placed money on the counter deliberately.

  Leland had the slack, careless appearance of an oblivious drunk. “We could use him, boss,” he said to Angel. “He’s been on the rigs, so he knows how to work. Done some construction, too.”

  “What is it?” Matt said to Angel suddenly. “What’s goin’ on here?”

  “Sixth sense,” Sarah said to Sabine. “He smells bad apples. I guess that’s why he’s the police chief.”

  Sabine giggled, but stopped abruptly when Angel ignored Matt and took a step toward Chuck. “Here it comes,” she said.

  “Nice to see you again,” Angel said. “You ever worked construction? For real?”

  “I have. Framing.”

  Angel’s cool gray eyes narrowed. “We’ve got plenty of framing to be done, right Leland?”

  “Right,” Leland said cheerfully.

  “Report for work first thing in the morning,” Angel said. “Leland and I run a tight ship.”

  Chuck let his breath out in a whistle. “Why would you hire me?”

  Sarah raised her eyebrows. The guy had a funny way of responding to a job offer.

  “You can’t think of a reason?” Angel said. When he crossed his arms and flexed his shoulders he was even more intimidating.

  Chuck’s eyes moved from Angel’s chest, to the floor, to the ceiling and back at Angel. “No.”

  “Maybe there doesn’t have to be one,” Angel said. “Except we need the hands and there aren’t many spare ones in these parts, not if they’re skilled and they want to work. And I put business before pleasure. Fair enough?”

  “Yessir.”

  “’Night, Moggeridge,” Angel said.

  Chuck took an instant to process his dismissal but eventually nodded, and gave a mock salute. When he’d passed Angel, he looked back and hatred surfaced briefly in Chuck’s face. Then he left, his gait unsteady.

  “Are you gonna tell me about all that?” Matt said. “I didn’t know you knew the guy.”

  “Later,” Angel told
him. He turned back to Leland. “The guys who share a place with Bucky came to me.”

  “They’d already been to me,” Matt added. “I’m not a happy man. I’ve already got enough trouble around here.”

  “With that Emma Duhon and her phantom whip man?” Leland said, sniggering. “I was telling the ladies how wigged-out they get when they’re pregnant. I’d put that one to bed if I was you.”

  Matt’s sixth sense helped him out again. Making a move toward the bar, he stepped between Leland and Angel. “Less you say on that subject, the better,” he told Leland in a even voice. “Angel and the Duhons are tight.”

  Leland, on delay, looked aghast. “I know that. What I said was just a guy thing. Just a joke. Maybe I’d better get going.”

  “Go,” Matt said. “But we’ve asked around and nobody remembers seeing Bucky Smith since he was at Ona’s last night.”

  “Not my problem,” Leland said.

  “Sure as hell is,” Angel shot at him. “If we’ve got workers missing from shifts, it’s your problem. Playing babysitter to the crews is your job, not mine. Now go dredge him up from wherever he’s been sleeping it off. When you find him, tell him this is his free one. If he messes up again, he doesn’t have a job anymore. Duhon’s doesn’t carry any deadweight.”

  14

  Early the next afternoon, Finn and Angel hovered near the private elevator in Finn’s suite of offices at the old Oakdale Mansion.

  “Matt’ll be on his way up shortly,” Finn told Angel. “No heroics, okay?”

  Angel was uncomfortable with Finn’s plan to tell Eileen it had been he, not Angel, who wanted to call in the cops. “Coming clean with Matt was my idea.”

  “I agreed with you,” Finn said. “And I didn’t mention how pissed he’s going to be because you didn’t tell him everything days ago.”

  “You have now.” Angel had to smile.

  “Listen up,” Finn said. “I know my sister. She’s hard-headed. Like you said, she wanted to contact Matt herself but you talked her out of it. She’s likely to blow if she thinks you’ve gone to Matt on your own now. So when she gets here we’ll say I sent for him. It’s true.”