A Grave Mistake
“And you believe this was the same man who just moved into Edwards Place?”
She hadn’t been able to see his face, just that he was big. “I don’t think so. But the car had those black windows.”
If he showed any sign of the sudden panic he felt, she’d be terrified. “That doesn’t mean it had anything to do with you, then.”
“When I was inside, I went upstairs and looked out of a window. A man was standing close to a tree at the corner, watching my house. I could have missed him if he hadn’t drawn on a cigarette.”
Guy set his back teeth. “He didn’t have to be looking at your house—and he didn’t have to have come from the car you saw being driven past.”
“No. Except I just knew he was looking at my place and I could see the back of the car around the corner.”
Guy put his hands on his hips and expanded his lungs. He felt an artificial calm in the air as if the world was about to split wide open and nothing but filth would pour out.
He wanted Edith Preston, and anyone remotely attached to her, out of Toussaint, preferably yesterday.
“You were right in the first place,” Jilly said. “I’m over-reacting. I need to head back into town.”
And without a word of reassurance from me, ass that I am. “I’ll walk you to your car. Good-lookin’ mutt running loose up there. I’ll call the pound.”
Jilly stopped so suddenly, he’d taken two steps before he halted and looked at her. “What is it?”
“You call the pound on that dog and I’ll never speak to you again.”
Shee-it. “It’s lost, Jilly. Kindest thing to do—”
“Is have it picked up and gassed? Oh, no, sir, not that sweet-natured pooch. Look at that trusting face. He’s just what you need to take your mind off yourself now and then.”
Guy felt a bit wild. “I need that trampy dog?”
“You surely do, Mr. Gautreaux.” She clapped her hands at the hound. “Here, boy. Here, boy. Come and meet Guy.”
“Damn it, Jilly, don’t do that. I can’t have a dog.”
“Sure you can. What else do you have in that miserable shotgun house of yours? Not furniture, that’s for sure.”
“I like—whoa.” The dog arrived, bypassed Jilly as if he’d never seen her, now or before, and landed against Guy’s middle. His long tongue lolled out of his mouth, he slobbered, and looked for all the world like he was grinning.
Guy patted the dog’s head and said, “Down, boy,” which the critter did. He sat beside the man as if he was giving an obedience demonstration.
“Look at that, he—”
“Never mind the dog. I’ll see he’s taken care of. Let’s go sit at a picnic table. I want you to tell me what you really need from me. And you can kick me if I put my foot in my mouth.”
She blinked. He was trying to reach out to her. Jilly couldn’t find the words she really wanted to say. “The first thing you need to do when you adopt a dog is to get him looked at by a vet. He’ll need all of his shots, and—”
Guy’s pinched-up expression stopped Jilly. “I said, forget the dog.” He took off toward the back lawn.
Jilly followed him. She surreptitiously patted her thigh and the big pup gamboled past her to lope along at Guy’s heel. Guy walked easily, his big shoulders and arms swinging.
“I’ll get us a cold drink,” Guy called back.
Something about him suggested he was in a hurry. “Not for me, thanks,” Jilly said, although her mouth felt like sandpaper.
They sat, facing each other across the table, the dog a couple of feet distant with his liquid eyes firmly on Guy’s face.
“Let’s get to it,” Guy said. He wasn’t going to grow a silver tongue so he might as well wade in.
“Why don’t you like Edith?”
He gave her a long, considered look. “I like you. I don’t like anyone who hurts you. That should cover it.”
“She’s changed.”
“People don’t change.”
Jilly hitched at the thin straps on her yellow sun-dress. One of the nicest things about Edith’s mother having been part black was that Jilly had inherited skin the color of pale gold coffee. Edith had it, too. Guy’s eyes flickered toward her thumbs, where they were hooked beneath her straps, then away again. Most of the time he treated her like one of the guys, but there were those moments that let her know he didn’t entirely think of her that way. Those moments tended to make her legs wobbly.
“I already told you how I felt about that, Jilly,” he said. “People changing. But I understand you wanting to believe something different.”
“I don’t like to disturb you, Guy, but I am going to ask you something. As long as there’s nothing to suggest Edith is some kind of criminal who came here just to ruin my life, could you try to back me up? Give me some confidence until I know, one way or the other, if she wants to make things up to me like she says she does?”
“How do you intend to find out these things?” he asked her. “One way or the other? Do you wait till you get dragged in too deep to get out? Or until the man you insisted watched you from across the street decides to wait for you inside your house one night?”
“Stop it!”
“I can’t. I can’t pull any punches. What if Sam Preston decides you could be dangerous to him?”
She crossed her arms. “I couldn’t be. That’s silly.”
“You don’t know that.”
“What have you got against the man? He’s married to my mother, that doesn’t make him a criminal.”
And there she had him. “You’re right.” He couldn’t tell her Joe Gable had already confided that he didn’t trust Edith’s supposed reason for being in Toussaint, or that he thought all the flash was to impress Jilly for some ulterior motive. Joe had speculated that Edith might know about an inheritance Jilly was about to get—a big one—only between them they couldn’t come up with a plausible benefactor. “Preston’s an antiques dealer in the Quarter, right?”
“Yes,” Jilly said. “I told you that before.”
“I guess you did. I can’t help thinking about the guy seeming to be stinking rich. I suppose there must be a lot of money in antiques.”
“I suppose there must. Guy, all I want is for you to tell me everything’s okay,” Jilly said, feeling empty. “Just be there for me while I allow it all to settle down.”
“Everything’s okay,” he said, his eyes burning in their sockets.
“No! Please don’t patronize me. I know what I’m asking is kind of silly, but I won’t find out what happened between my parents, not for sure, unless I can take this chance I’ve been handed and make the best of it.”
He let out a long sigh. The dog, with his long fur shining like sealskin, had slid his head onto Guy’s thigh. He stood quiet, like a statue—as if he could be invisible if he tried real hard.
Guy gave the mutt a rub and that earned him a look of adoration. “I don’t want to patronize you, Jilly. I’d be a fool if I did, because you’re one smart woman.” Why would she want to know anything more about the senior Gables’ dysfunctional relationship?
“Could you try to be happy for me?”
“I’m happy for you.”
“You’re doing it again.” She blinked and her eyelashes were wet. “Repeating what I say in that flat voice you can put on. I’ve finally got what I’ve always wanted, a family. Can’t you be glad about that?”
“You’ve always had Joe. Now you’ve got a sister-in-law, too, and Ellie’s one of the best. You’ve always had a lot of people in this town. You’ve got…” Whoa.
“Yes? What else have I got?”
“I’m not the same as family, but I hope you think of me as a good friend,” he told her rapidly, feeling the hole he’d dug open up beneath his feet. He smiled at her and reached for her hand. “Jilly, you’re the best friend I’ve got and you know it. That’s why I worry about you so much.”
She smiled back. “Thank you. Forget what I said about that man. You’re probably right and he wasn’t looking at my house at all.”
He’d let it go at that, even though the thought of Daddy and his expensive gift made him crazy.
Jilly got up from her bench and came around the table. She slipped her arms around his neck, pressed his face to the soft, bare rise above her bodice, and hugged him. She rested her cheek on top of his head and rocked a little.
What was he supposed to do? Be real careful, he guessed. His hands fitted around her waist and came close to touching at the back. “You are a sweet thing, Miz Gable. You’ve had too much hardship and it’s time for the good stuff to come along for you.” If he had his way, it would, even if it probably shouldn’t be with him.
Her face dropped to his neck.
This could so easily go further than he had promised himself it ever would.
Lifting her with him, he got up and swung her around before setting her feet firmly on the ground. She smiled up at him and he smiled back, tapped the end of her nose with a forefinger, tried not to stare at her mouth.
Over her head he saw a black Corvette slide past the gas station and come to a stop. The driver maneuvered until the nose of the car pointed uphill.
Ready to get away fast, Guy thought.
Jilly felt his attention move away and looked behind her. A man got out of a flashy black car. A man with a linen fedora tipped over his eyes, and a shirt so white it made him look even darker than he was, especially where the sleeves were rolled back over his bunched forearms. His pants were dark, his tie loosened, and he carried a suit jacket tossed over his shoulder.
Guy waved, shouted, “Some wheels you’ve got there.”
“Hard work and clean livin’ pay off,” the other man said, walking toward them. “Less vices a man got, the better he lives, and I got no-o vices, Guy.” The grin was as white as the shirt and he was one spectacular looker. The dimpled grooves beside his mouth only got slightly less defined when he turned serious and looked at Jilly.
“We get good cell reception down here, huh?” Guy said in the most obvious attempt at distracting someone that Jilly had ever heard.
“Yeah,” the man said, nodding.
Jilly wished she could sit down again. Guns were a part of life in these parts, but this man wore a shoulder harness with the kind of ease that yelled “cop,” and she didn’t have to work hard to figure out this was someone Guy had worked with.
She didn’t like to be reminded of his other life.
The man’s eyes went from Guy to Jilly and back again. “Son of a gun, Gautreaux, you never did have manners. You gonna introduce the pretty lady?”
His easy manner made Jilly grin.
“Jilly’s a friend of mine,” Guy said. “She was just leavin’. Take it easy as you go, kid.”
He might as well have said, get lost. A creepy sensation shot up her spine and she felt sick. “Yes, right.” She backed away, perfectly aware that the newcomer was just about as uncomfortable as she was. He shot out a hand and she took it, shook it and tried not to wince.
“Nat Archer,” he said. “Guy and I go way back. Like I said, he’s got lousy manners.”
“Jilly Gable,” she told him, and waved her hand at waist level before running uphill toward her car.
“Hey, Jilly,” Guy hollered. “I’ll call you later. Maybe we can get a late bite.” And he had to make sure she didn’t mention Nat to anyone else.
“Not tonight,” she called back. “I’ve got plans.”
2
“You might need some new hookup lines,” Nat said when Jilly was in her car and driving away. His deep voice was pure, tumbled gravel. “That girl didn’t buy your ‘get lost now but I may have time for you later.’ No, sir.”
Guy didn’t intend to give anyone the pleasure of seeing how teed off he was, especially smart-mouth Archer.
“Jilly, darlin’—” Nat used his slow, most reasonable drawl “—this is my good old friend, Nat Archer. He’s come to discuss a little business. I don’t want him sharing a minute of my time with you. Make yourself comfortable awhile, cher, but first say, yes, you’ll join me for a sexy little dinner for two later. I’ll—”
“Can it, Archer.” He couldn’t help grinning. “You don’t change, do you, partner? Jilly and I understand each other.”
Nat pushed his hat to the back of his head. “You don’t say? Guy, I think something’s breakin’. I didn’t want to say too much on the phone, but it may be time for you to come back where you belong. The department needs you.”
Where did he belong? Once he thought he knew, but he didn’t anymore. “What’s up? Last time you called, some girl’s daddy was after you with a shotgun.”
Nat punched Guy’s arm. “Trust you to mangle history. The girl was a woman in her thirties and her brother was the goon on my tail. I spoiled their scam. They thought they had a patsy with deep pockets—me. They’re guests of the State.”
“Such excitement,” Guy said, rubbing stubble on his jaw. “Makes a quiet type like me feel giddy.”
Nat quit smiling. “Is there somewhere we can go where we won’t be interrupted?”
“It’s quiet here,” Guy said, “but it can pick up anytime. There’s just me till Homer gets back. I could call someone in so we could go to my house. It’s the safest place I can think of.”
Nat nodded. “I admit I’m tryin’ to connect some long wires here. But we could be about to skate over the thinnest ice you and me ever stepped on. That’s saying somethin’. I’m not sure—I can’t be yet—but it could be somethin’ big is about to blow up in Toussaint. And if it does, yours truly is going to be right here with you.”
Curiosity strung Guy out tight. “That so?” He had never known Nat to embellish things.
Calling Ozaire back didn’t rate high on Guy’s list, but he wasn’t about to bother Homer, who would be over at Rosebank—a resort hotel owned by his daughter-in-law, Vivian Devol, and her mother, Charlotte Patin. Homer’s son, Spike, helped run the place with his wife, while he also kept the Toussaint sheriff’s department running. Each afternoon Homer picked up Spike’s daughter by a previous marriage, and took her home from school. Only Wendy could turn Homer into a softie.
“You got a bug somewhere he didn’t ought to be?” Nat asked. “Looks like you got pain.”
Guy’s response was to call Ozaire, who was so enthusiastic about returning to work he made Guy suspicious.
“Go on ahead to my house, I’ll join you as soon as he gets here,” Guy told Nat. Then he had a thought that started him punching numbers on his phone again. “What the hell am I thinking of?” he muttered. “How’s she supposed to know if I don’t tell her? She needs to know now, not later.” He could not wait to tell Jilly to forget she had seen Nat.
“Aw, you know those aren’t things you tell a woman on the phone. You had your chance to say the sweet nothings in person. You blew it.”
Guy ignored Nat and looked at the sky while he listened to Jilly’s phone ring. She wouldn’t even be back to town by now and she always kept her cell on.
He hung up and stuck his hands in the pockets of his jeans.
“What’s up?” Nat asked.
“You,” Guy said without preamble. “I told you I didn’t want us seen together around here. If Spike, that’s the sheriff and he’s Homer’s son, if he gets wind that I’m holed up with my old partner, he’ll be sure I’m getting ready to leave. He’ll tell Homer. Homer will get mad and fire me because he’ll want to tell me to go before I can quit.”
Nat shook his head. “Why would you care?”
“Jilly needs me here.” He needed her. “And I owe Homer.”
“She already knows about me, man,” Nat pointed out.
“Jilly might not make the connection if… Let it go. I don’t want people speculating about you, okay?”
“O-kay.”
His partner’s attitude galled him. “Look, Nat. You come sashayin’ in, driving a car people around here will talk about. There isn’t always a lot of excitement, see, and they can get pretty imaginative with very little encouragement.”
“Whoa.” Nat held up both hands. “I asked you if you were on your own and you said you were, or would be in a few minutes.”
“I didn’t expect Jilly to stay.”
“Is it my fault she did?”
“This had better be important,” Guy said. “I’ll join you as soon as I can.”
His phone rang and he looked at the readout. “Hi, Jilly,” he said, trying not to sound as relieved as he felt.
“Sorry I didn’t pick up just now,” she said.
“You had a right,” he told her. “I need to ask you a favor. Nat, the guy you just met?”
“Yes.”
The sound of zydeco from her car radio made him smile. She loved the music, and she loved to dance. So did he, with her.
“There’s a real good reason why he wasn’t here.”
“Huh?” She turned off the radio. “What did you say?”
“He wasn’t here.”
“Nat Archer, the knockout guy I just met at Homer’s, he wasn’t there? The one with a voice like warm, tumbled gravel? For goodness’ sake, why don’t you just put things so they aren’t so confusing? You don’t want me to mention Mr. Archer to anyone. Right?”
He blew out a breath in a whistle. “I just don’t have your smooth way with words, cher.”
“You can say that again,” Nat muttered.
Guy reached out and snatched the fedora, jumped on the closest bench, then on the picnic table, and held the hat high.
All Nat did was shake his head slowly.
“You’ve got my word, Guy, you know that,” Jilly said. “But I hope you’ll explain the reason to me.”
Just what he didn’t want to do. “Sure. How about that dinner?”
“Maybe I can fit you in. I…get back! Stop!”
Jilly screamed and, at the same time, Guy heard the gut-churning sound of a collision, breaking glass, buckling metal—and a cacophony of shouting voices.
“Jilly,” he yelled. “Jilly!”
She didn’t answer him.
There was only one road into Toussaint from Homer Devol’s place, so that simplified Guy’s rubber-laying drive. You also couldn’t get lost in the town and you for sure couldn’t miss a car crash, any car crash there.
He saw flashing lights behind him, then heard a siren. “Not now,” he said through his teeth, and floored the accelerator. Almost at once he saw his folly, slowed and pulled over. The cruiser screeched to a stop, slewed behind the Pontiac.
One big “ain’t I cool?” officer took his time getting to Guy’s window. The man’s hand hovered over his weapon and he spread his feet. “Out,” he said, “hands behind your head, down on your face.”
Guy did something he tried to avoid. He smiled at an asshole and said, ever so sweetly, “Afternoon, Officer. I’m Detective Gautreaux, NOPD. Should have put my light on top, but you know how it is with these pricks, think they’re smarter than we are. I prefer to sneak up on ’em when I can.”
He was on thin ice. “Inactive duty” wasn’t a designation that carried weight, and if he told the guy the truth he’d have to run a check. Guy couldn’t afford the delay.
The officer looked uncertain. “Yeah, I know what you mean. You got a badge, sir?”
“In the pocket of my jeans. Left front.” He put his hands behind his head. Because they expected him back at NOPD he’d never been asked for his badge. Carrying the thing was a habit. “I’ll get out.”
The man made up his mind. “You’d best get going. Sorry I slowed you down.”
Guy nodded and took off fast enough to reach Bi-geaux’s hardware store on the outskirts of town and disappear around a corner without ever seeing the cop again. But he had lost at least eight or nine minutes and it was his own fault.
He dialed Jilly’s number again. No answer.
There it was. Toussaint’s very own talking points for the next few weeks. In the intersection of St. Mary’s Street and Main, the only four-way stop in town. A big old burgundy Impala station wagon stood at an angle, one side shoved in, empty holes where the window had been. And a few feet distant where it had come to a stop after bouncing off the Impala, was Jilly’s Beetle. The front had crumpled and popped open, and the damage was what you would expect when the engine was in the rear: the front wheels had moved a whole lot closer to the rear ones. In every direction, sun bounced off broken glass. Gas ran all over the road.
With her head in her hands, Jilly sat on a curb. Guy could see the scrapes from yards away. Father Cyrus Payne, pastor of Toussaint’s St. Cécil’s Parish, owner of the Impala, crouched beside her, an arm around her shoulders.
A deputy Guy hadn’t seen before had his hands planted on his hips while he had a face-to-face discussion with a large, thickset man in a dark suit.
Jilly looked up, saw Guy, and burst into tears.
He parked and got out of the car. Immediately he heard the deputy’s raised voice. “You’ve told me what you saw, sir. You’ll be contacted if we need more information.” The officer’s thin face had turned bright red and Guy wondered if this was his first day on the job.
The other man held his hands loosely in front of him and spoke softly, too softly to be heard.
“No,” the officer said. “You can’t take care of this little matter. We’ve got procedures we follow.”
A small crowd had already gathered and every face was familiar.
Guy went to Cyrus and Jilly and bent down beside them. “Who’s the guy arguing with the deputy?”
With no warning, Jilly’s crying intensified. She covered her face and shook her head, but tears made it between her hands to drip off her chin.
“Cyrus?” Guy looked at the priest. “Jilly’s really shocked.”
Cyrus raised his brows, widened his deep blue eyes as if trying to send a silent message. He indicated Jilly by inclining his head at a sharp angle.
“Jilly,” Guy said. “Jilly, cher, all this will go away. You must have hit something slippery and slid right into Cyrus.”
She bowed lower with her hands laced over the back of her head, and Cyrus shocked Guy by grabbing the neck of his T-shirt and yanking him down. “You mean well,” the priest said into Guy’s ear. “But it would be better if you found out how Jilly is before you analyze the rest of this situation.”
Guy squeezed his eyes shut. “You’re right,” he said. I am a fool and I never was any good with women. She deserves better than me.
“How’re you doin’, Jilly?” he asked quietly. Too bad he couldn’t feel noble for never making a move on her. He wanted to.
“You didn’t hear the crash?” she said, in a choked voice. “I don’t know what happened. Maybe the brakes felt mushy. I don’t understand why you didn’t hear all that noise.”
He blinked a few times. “Of course I did. We were talkin’ on the phone.”
“Then why didn’t you come right away? If you cared… Friends look out for each other.” She brought her left hand down and looked at her watch. “If it had been you, and I knew something bad had happened, I wouldn’t have taken my time getting to you.”
Cyrus actually gave him a sympathetic look. Honesty was the only way of saving his tail here. “I did, Jilly, but I speeded like a fool and got stopped by a cop. If he hadn’t decided to be reasonable, I’d still be there.”
“Oh, Guy.” She looked at him reproachfully. “You shouldn’t have been speeding.”
Cyrus said, “I think I’d better help out the young deputy. I don’t know who the other man is, but he’s making nothing into something. Uh-oh, here comes Patti-Lou, or Lee I guess her name is when she isn’t writing her gossip column.” He got up, slapped Guy’s shoulder and walked away.
“C’mon,” Guy said, taking hold of Jilly’s free hand and pulling her up. “Do you hurt anywhere? Hurt bad like something’s broken?”
She shook her head and leaned to look around him. “I don’t want anything in the Trumpet about this.”
Guy turned enough to see Lee O’Brien, cousin of Reb O’Brien Girard, Toussaint’s medical examiner and only doctor, pushing a tape recorder under the deputy’s nose. “Forget it. Whether you like it or not, you’re in the paper. Can’t really blame the woman—most days she doesn’t have a whole lot to write about.”
“Except gossip.” Jilly groaned, touched the side of her head and mouthed, “Ouch.”
“You did hurt yourself,” Guy said. “You hit your head.”
“A bump. It’s nothing.”
“I expect someone already made it over in the aid car to check you out.”
Jilly shook her head again.