A Cold Day in Hell (32 page)

T
he 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, multi-colored 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 shape-shifters.”

“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.”

December 24

I
f 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 and 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.

P
OINTE
J
UDAH
N
EWS

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.