Gracie shook her head.
“Nice of you to visit the sick,” Matt said from a gap in the curtains at the bottom of the bed. “No surprise there, though. But you do have to watch the quiet ones, Angel, and don’t you forget it. I wouldn’t turn my back on that one if I was you.”
Angel had come in by the same route as Eileen. He said, “Nice hat,” to her.
That’s when the peace of the emergency facility fractured and screams of pain reverberated from every wall.
“Stay there,” Angel told Eileen and ran after Matt.
Eileen counted to five and followed. She figured Gracie wouldn’t be going anywhere with a smashed hand. And from the ruckus, there was a lot going on that she wanted see.
Angel arrived on the opposite side of the unit right behind Matt and the gaggle of other officials.
Seated in a wheelchair beside Rusty Barnes, one casted leg extended, Betty Sims wielded a steel instrument, a long, narrow, tubular thing. Rusty yelled and tossed and batted the air as if a swarm of bees had assaulted him.
Nothing he said made any sense.
Rusty’s shirt was already torn open. Betty had managed to poke the tube through from the inside of the garment and stab a hole in the right sleeve. Holding both ends of the instrument, she leaned away, pushed her chair back with her good foot and tore away most of what was left of his shirt.
“There,” she said, her face red. She wheeled up close again. “See that?”
A nurse came at a trot and looked at Rusty’s chest. Mitch Halpern was right behind and Angel shook his head when Eileen arrived.
“He’s got burns on his chest,” the nurse said.
Like burns from boiling fat, Eileen thought. They were open and weeping pussy fluid. The surrounding skin flamed.
“Never mind his chest,” Betty said, waving the tube above her head. “It’s his shoulder and back. Look at ’em. Putrid. They stink. Can’t you smell that?”
Angel could smell rotting flesh.
“These are burns,” Mitch said, still concentrating on Rusty’s chest area. “Like he got spattered with something hot.”
“Shit,” Matt said. “Would boiling fat do that?”
Mitch shrugged. “Sure. The wounds are infected. Why wouldn’t he have this treated?”
“Because he killed Bucky,” Angel said. “Bucky grabbed at Rusty’s chest and that’s when he got the paper and hair under his fingernails.”
For an instant it looked as if Betty would poke Rusty’s shoulder but she caught Angel’s eyes, smiled slightly, and drew back.
Mitch got to her side and, hardened as he was, the subtle shock was impossible to miss. “Everybody out. Marion, we’re going to have to operate on this.”
“Here?” the nurse said.
“He’s not going to make it if we don’t try,” Mitch said. “It looks as if he was attacked by something. We’re looking at a flesh-eating disease.”
An intern with excitement glowing in his eyes all but skidded to a stop beside Mitch. “Wow,” he said. “If I hadn’t switched shifts with someone else I’d have missed this.”
“He’s the one who attacked Frances and tried to kill me,” Betty said. “I’d know that whiter-than-white skin on his neck and that curly hair anywhere.”
“He was engaged to Denise,” Eileen said, horribly fascinated by Rusty’s wounds. “She was murdered, remember, and she belonged to Secrets. She and Rusty planned to be married.”
“Vengeance,” Matt said quietly. “Finally he couldn’t stand the sight of the rest of you living while Denise was dead. He must have blamed Secrets, I guess. Must have fallen on a rake or something to do that to his shoulder.”
“Rake?” Betty said. “It wasn’t what he fell on. It was what mauled him. Biggest wolf I ever did see. You should have seen his claws. And those fangs. Hoo Mama. Took that boy in his mouth and shook him till I thought he was dead. Then he looked at me and at first I thought I was wolf meat, too. But that animal—almost a block long, he was—he just smiled at me, then winked and ran off.”
“I guess someone brought in that Bailey’s for you, Betty,” Eileen said.
Angel stood beside her. He put a hand on the back of her neck and led her from the unit. Then he faced her and said, “Aaron saw the wolf, too. And so did I.”
“Yes,” Eileen murmured. “Me, too.”
42
The still unfinished salon at Angel’s house resembled the inside of a very fancy package. Lengths of silk and satin, gold, deep blue and white, covered the ceiling and walls; and more fabric, this a silver metallic mesh, had been applied in a single, wide line up each wall as if it were the ribbon on the package. The mesh came together in a huge bow in the center of the ceiling.
No, the room looked like a package turned inside out. Angel squinted at the intricate bow woven through his antique chandelier.
Several inches of sparkling, multicolored confetti covered the floors and Angel wondered how long it would be before he stopped finding it in other parts of the house.
“I don’t know how you pulled this off,” Eileen said to him. They’d barely walked in out of a chilly night. “Everyone knows Delia Board insists on a big family do at her house. How did you get her to come here instead?”
“I didn’t do a thing,” Angel said. “I’m as amazed as you are. Look at that woman. Where did she get all the staff this late on Christmas Eve? That tree’s got to be fourteen feet tall and it’s perfectly decorated.”
“But you didn’t have anything to do with it?” Eileen said. She longed to lie down, but no way would she put a damper on the evening. “The table looks as if it’s ready for a presidential dinner.”
“What I care about is what I smell,” Angel said. “My mouth is watering.”
Eileen hadn’t been hungry, but she was now.
“All of the Boards,” Angel said. “Aaron and Sonny. Matt. Lobelia Forestier?”
“Hush,” Eileen said. “It’s Christmas.”
He puffed. “And two confetti snufflers.” Hoover and Locum rolled in the confetti, occasionally standing up to give mighty shakes and send the stuff everywhere. They were both glittery.
“Chuzah,” Eileen whispered as he swept from the kitchen in immaculate chef’s garb with bells strung around his very tall chef’s hat. He placed dishes on a white-draped sideboard. Eileen suspected that under the drape she could find a sheet of plywood and some sawhorses.
Suky-Jo was there, and several members of the Boardroom Boys who strummed and hummed carols around the Christmas tree.
Matt saw Angel and Eileen and came over. He was still in uniform, but with the neck of his shirt unbuttoned and his sleeves rolled up. “This is hokey, you know that?” he said.
“I love it,” Eileen said. “There’s only one thing better than a lot of glitter and that’s even more glitter. What I want to know is how it was put together. You don’t do something like this in five minutes.”
“From what I hear, if Delia Board wants to do something, she finds a way. Took ’em a couple of hours is all. She had a whole staff laid on at her place and all she did was move it over here.”
Delia, wearing a long, white satin sheath dress, was apparently doing what she did best: giving orders. Sabine nodded each time Delia said something to her, but did what she was already doing.
“Delia’s got everyone working,” Eileen said. “They came for dinner and cooked it!”
“No,” Matt said. “Chuzah cooked it and allowed a few people to help. I really went off on the wrong track with him.”
“You surely did,” Angel said. He caught Eileen’s eye and added, “Anyone could have come to the same conclusion. Too bad Dr. Mitch can’t be here.”
They fell silent and Angel knew that, like him, the other two were thinking about Rusty. “Does Mitch think Rusty will make it?” Angel said.
“He doesn’t think he’ll last the night,” Matt said. “And poor Emma’s still in labor, darn it. She really wanted to come to this party.”
> Chuzah bore down on them, a covered silver platter in hand. He managed to place himself where his back was to Matt but he faced Angel and Eileen. “You did well,” he said to Angel, “but I never doubted you would. I approve of every move you make. Now, this is what we will not be having for dinner.” He removed the cover with a flourish to reveal a black and shriveled turkey.
Eileen grimaced. “Poor thing. Everyone forgot it at the patisserie. There wasn’t a fire or anything?”
“No, lovely lady,” Chuzah said. “I’m told they have magical ovens that switch off if food begins to burn. We need the two of you to sit in the middle on the far side of the table. The silver napkins with bells on the rings are yours.” He looked hard at first Angel, then Eileen. “We will start assembling everyone.”
He swept away, paused and returned to shake hands with Matt. “You are a good man,” Chuzah said. “Misguided on occasion. Bullheaded frequently. But a good man.”
Angel watched them and once Chuzah was gone said, “I’m going to have to research shapeshifters.”
“Finally you admit I was right about him,” Eileen murmured.
Matt returned and Angel said, “Chuck didn’t really do anything, did he?”
“He did plenty,” Matt responded. “Gracie’s a loser and she’ll spend a long time in jail, but that doesn’t mean he’s got the right to beat the crap out of her.”
Until now, Eileen had not let herself think deeply about Chuck and what he had done to her and, most of all, to Aaron. “When Aaron finds out what his father tried to do he’s going to feel betrayed all over again,” she said.
“He’ll get the support he needs.” Angel smiled at Eileen. “We’ll help him.”
Matt looked into the distance. “He got away, but not for long. He’ll pay.”
“Good,” Angel said, but his mind was elsewhere. He said, “Excuse me,” took Eileen by the hand and walked into the entrance hall. “It’s too hot in there. Let’s take a walk in the conservatory.”
Without a word she went with him to the big, empty room where the only light came from a thin moon shining through the glass ceiling and windows.
“Angel?” Sonny’s voice made them both jump.
Eileen saw him hovering in the open doorway to the conservatory with Aaron lurking behind him. Angel left her side and went to carry on a short, whispered conversation. The boys left and Angel returned.
“What was that about?” she asked.
“On any other night, I could get mad,” Angel said. “When did they all decide I’m too dumb to know what I’m supposed to do?”
Eileen couldn’t think of an answer.
“I can’t be mad tonight,” Angel said. “So it doesn’t matter. Could we get right to the point?”
She was glad of the gloom and hoped it hid her grin. “I’m all for getting to the point.”
“How long before you think I can take you upstairs and get us naked?”
Eileen poked his chest. “That’s not what you’re supposed to say, and you know it.”
“What a relief,” Angel said. He did love this woman. “You’re going to say it for me. I was starting to get flustered.”
“Go ahead and get flustered. I’m not helping you out.”
“If I say it, can we go upstairs and get naked then?”
“My arm’s in a sling.”
“I’ll do everything. Just leave it to me.”
“We’ll still have to eat dinner first,” Eileen said.
“And go through the champagne toasts and hoopla that they’ve got planned for those silver napkins.”
“You’ve got it,” Eileen said. “Unless you’ve decided you don’t want to get to the point after all.”
Angel felt as if he could do something stupid, like laugh, or worse yet, cry. He dropped to his knees and held Eileen’s good hand.
“Get up, you fool,” she whispered loudly. “Someone might see you.”
He did laugh then. “I hope they do. I love you, Eileen. I didn’t know it, but I’d never been really happy before we met. Do you feel like being my missus?”
Eileen bent to kiss him, for a very long time. When she allowed them a break, she said, “If you feel like being my mister.”
Standing again, Angel hugged her carefully. “If that was hokey,” he said, “I want to be hokey for the rest of our lives.”
Epilogue
December 24
If he didn’t know better, Chuck would say the sky sat on top of his car. A black sky without a sign of moon or stars. He drove north out of town on the road not too far from NezPique. Not many people came out this way, and he didn’t blame them. But tonight he was glad it was deserted. He couldn’t afford to meet anyone who might recognize his car.
There wouldn’t be a second chance. He had made himself wait until it was dark enough to hopefully avoid getting caught before he was even out of Pointe Judah.
His father hadn’t taught him much except to keep women in their place and never to trust them. Chuck thought he’d taken those lessons seriously, but this night was proof he hadn’t listened nearly closely enough.
No woman would get the upper hand with him again, and he was damned if Eileen would get off scot-free after what she’d done to him. He’d make sure she suffered.
This wasn’t a part of the area he knew. He didn’t trust the bayou. The swampland that spread out from it in places gave him the creeps.
He switched on the radio. Darryl LeChat ground out his eerie version of “I’m Gone, And I Ain’t Comin’ Back.” The singer managed to take any joy out of a zydeco number and turn it into a dirge.
Chuck went to change channels, but a gentle bump at the back of his car, so soft he hardly heard it, popped him forward and he craned around in his seat to look behind him.
Nothing.
He checked the wing mirror and the rearview mirror. Not one speck of light or any outline of another vehicle.
His exhaust system was probably gummed up. Once he was away from this hellhole, he’d dump this pile of trash and get him some new wheels. He had a nice stack of bills in his pocket, compliments of the job at The Willows.
Even thinking about Angel DeAngelo made Chuck’s temples pump hard.
Rain slashed the windshield, or it could be a bunch of water swept from a tree by the wind.
The water kept on coming.
Something bumped the rear again. Chuck opened his mouth to breathe. That hadn’t been anything to do with his exhaust. He’d been hit from behind.
One thing he wouldn’t do was stop and confront whoever this joker was.
Another contact jerked him around a bit. This time it was more of a shove.
He leaned on his horn, the next second realizing that his right rear wheel was entangled with someone else’s wheel. When he attempted to steer left and unhitch himself, he over-corrected.
His headlights, shining on the worn-out road, had kept him going fairly straight. Now his headlights swung, arced to the left, and swung sickeningly downward. “Fuck!” he yelled, bouncing and banging down a bank. Trees loomed. Moss slapped the car. He turned the wheel hard one way, then the other, threading a path through cypress trunks.
Braking wouldn’t do a thing but drive him deep into sludge.
He was burning up and rolled the window down a couple of inches. Screeches ate up the earlier silence.
The trees got tighter.
He was going to crash.
Wet branches caught in the open window and tore free. They crowded the inside of the car. He yelled and held a hand in front of his face.
Trees were growing in here, crushing him. He dragged a branch, saw his headlights slam into two trunks, close together, and he screamed. He jerked the wheel.
He somehow got through those trees.
More loomed.
Again, he jerked the wheel.
The nose of the car rose, kept on rising until Chuck felt his back bumper had to be resting on the soggy ground. Then the front of the car swept down again, down a
nd down.
Water rushed at him. The headlights bounced off a rushing, gleaming black wall.
The car dove. Chuck didn’t hear anything, not even the gush of stinking swamp water through the window.
The car lights went out.
He took a breath, but there was no air.
The last thing he saw was a pair of silver eyes watching him through the windshield.
POINTE JUDAH NEWS
Under New Management
Special Edition
February 1
Local police chief, Matt Boudreaux, announced yesterday that a vehicle believed to belong to Chuck Moggeridge, the missing suspect in December’s murder case in Pointe Judah, has been found.
The partially decomposed remains of a male decedent were found inside the vehicle and are being examined by the FBI. Preliminary findings suggest they belong to Chuck Moggeridge.
The discovery site was a small lake in the swamp area near Bayou NezPique, just north of Pointe Judah.
Moggeridge was last seen alive on December 24. So far, there are no reports that the remains show signs of foul play.
ISBN: 978-1-4268-0781-7
A COLD DAY IN HELL
Copyright © 2007 by Stella Cameron.
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, MIRA Books, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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