Bayou Nights (15 page)

Christine’s answering smile was tight, as if politeness pained her. She turned on her heel and disappeared down a hallway.

Yvette Simms’ hand landed on Drake’s sleeve. He suppressed the urge to shake her off. Instead, he smiled. “What a lovely home you have.”

“It is, isn’t it? Won’t you come sit down, Mr. Drake?” She led him into a front room. “Of course when we acquired it, it was terribly old fashioned. It needed everything. New paint, new drapes, new carpet.” She prattled on about carpet weaves and the silk used in the curtains.

Drake allowed his gaze to wander the room. Despite the floor to ceiling windows the parlor felt heavy and dark. “Obviously, you have a flair for design.” This was, after all, the woman who wore a stuffed hummingbird on her head.

“Why, thank you. It’s not much but we’re comfortable here. Please sit.” She nodded toward a settee.

Drake sat.

She sat next to him, so close their knees touched.

He inched to the left.

She followed. “May I offer you an iced tea?” Her eyelashes fluttered. “Or perhaps something stronger?”

What exactly was she offering? “No, thank you.” Where was Christine? How long would it take her to find what she was looking for? Drake refrained from checking his watch. “Have you lived here long?”

She waved her elegant hand. “A few years.”

“And before that?”

Her expression darkened. “A different house. Out by the lake. It’s much nicer to be in town.”

“I’m sure it is. New Orleans is such a unique city.”

“You think so? I would have guessed a man from New York would find us terribly dull.”

Did southerners use New York and Boston interchangeably? “Boston,” he said. “And New Orleans is definitely not dull.” He smiled at her. “Besides, back home there’s probably still snow on the ground. I find the warmth delightful.” He found the warmth stifling but he could hardly admit that to a local. “Are you from here?”

“Close enough.” She trilled a laugh then rested a hand on his arm. “Where could Miss Lambert have got to?”

“Here I am.” Christine stood just inside the door, her gaze bouncing between the juncture of knees and Yvette Simms’s hand on his sleeve. She shifted her focus to the closed hatbox. “Did you like your hat?”

“We’ve been having such a lovely conversation, I forgot to look.” Mrs. Simms leaned forward, loosened the silk cord holding the box closed, then lifted the lid. She pulled the hat from the box slowly, as if it was treasure and she was savoring the moment of discovery.

The hat looked the same as it had in the shop. A broad brim embellished with tulle and feathers and a sapphire and emerald hummingbird nested in the crown. In a word—
silly
.

“Perfect,” she breathed.

Christine managed a gratified smile. “I’m so glad you’re pleased. We won’t trouble you any longer.”

“You’re no trouble at all. Didn’t you tell Tillie you were thirsty? Won’t you have a glass of tea?” She shifted on the settee, moving still closer to Drake.

“How kind of you to offer, but we wouldn’t dream of taking any more of your time. I’m sure your husband misses your company.”

Mrs. Simms’ eyes narrowed. “My husband is napping. You’d be doing me a favor if you stayed.”

Napping? Drake glanced at the grandfather clock. The time was just shy of six o’clock.

“I wish we could.” Christine almost sounded as if she meant what she said. Almost. “Perhaps another time.”

Yvette Simms’ plump lips pursed then she turned to Drake and smiled. “I’d so enjoy getting to know both of you better. You’re sure you can’t stay?”

Did she expect him to disagree with Christine? He shifted on the settee. “I’m afraid we must go.” He stood.

The woman’s kittenish expression was replaced by a peevish one—one that would not look amiss on a five-year-old denied a piece of candy. “Miss Lambert, if you make any deliveries in the future, be sure and use the trade entrance.”

Christine’s shoulders stiffened but neither her face nor her eyes showed a hint of the outrage she must be feeling. If anything, she looked amused. She even smiled. “Of course. How silly of me.”

“Yes, well”—Mrs. Simms patted her hair—“we all make mistakes from time to time.”

“That we do.” Christine’s gaze traveled the ornate parlor. “Some are just more costly than others.”

…

They exited the trade entrance then walked around the house to the banquette. Christine couldn’t wait to get away. Yvette Simms had taken a silk purse and made a sow’s ear. The changes in the house made her eyes prickle. But there was no point in indulging in a maudlin walk down memory lane. She lifted her chin and marched forward. Drake stopped her with a hand on her arm. “You’re angry?”

She glanced over her shoulder at the house. A curtain in the front window twitched. Someone—probably Yvette Simms—watched them. “No. I’m not angry.”

“That…that woman made you exit a side door.”

“I’m in trade.” She laid her hand atop his then jerked it away. He’d rejected her. He didn’t want her touch. “Let’s walk.”

They took only a few steps before he stopped her a second time. “But that house belonged to your family and she…” His voice trailed off.

“It’s sweet of you to care, but I’m not bothered. Not at all. She’s married to a man old enough to be her grandfather. She traded her youth and beauty for a house near St. Charles Avenue. I suspect she’s come to realize it was a bad bargain. She’s lonely.”

“But—”

“No buts. I’d rather create and sell hats than live in a world where a man decides my fate.” Depending on herself, on her talents, was infinitely superior to depending on a man who would eventually betray her…or reject her. “Are you hungry?”

He stared at her as if she’d lost her mind.

“Are you hungry?” she repeated. “I missed most of dinner. I’d like supper.”

“I could eat,” he allowed.

“Wonderful. Commander’s Palace is just around the corner.”

She took a step forward.

Drake didn’t move. “Did you find it?”

Christine looked over her shoulder at the twitching curtain then nodded. “I’ll show you when we get there.”

Drake tucked her hand deeper into the crook of his arm and they strolled down the sun-dappled banquette as if they hadn’t a care in the world. The opposite was true. She’d offered him…everything, and he’d told her no. Even now, her insides cringed with embarrassment. The only way to go forward, to rescue her father, was to pretend it had never happened.

Drake scanned the street as if he expected some new sword-wielding enemy to drop out of the clear blue sky. Despite his vigilance or maybe because of it, they arrived safely at Commander’s Palace, were seated at a table in the whimsical main dining room, and ordered etouffée.

Drake took a careful inventory of every diner in the room. Seemingly satisfied that no one seated there meant to attack them, he leaned back in his chair. “What did you find?”

She tilted her chin. Surely he could guess? Another piece of eight sat in her pocket. “The usual.”

“Another coin? May I see it?” He held out his hand.

She deposited the bit of silver in his palm.

“Where was it?”

“There are hiding places in that house.”

“Hiding places?”

“Yes, and a secret passageway. There’s even a secret room but I’d have had to sneak past Carlton Simms to search that.”

“Where was this?”

“Dining room. I pushed the scrollwork on the fireplace and a hidden drawer opened up.”

His hand closed around the coin. “You found it right off?”

“Yes. It was hidden with this.” She pulled from her pocket a small bundle wrapped in paper made brittle by age.

“What is that?”

“I don’t know.” She untied the bit of string holding the paper closed and withdrew a photograph. Her three-year-old self sat on her mother’s lap. Her father stood behind them. Despite the serious expressions they wore for the camera, they looked happy. The image swam and she wiped her eyes. Why wouldn’t they look happy? The photograph was taken before gambling claimed her father’s soul.

“What do you have there?” Drake looked worried, as if her tears were his concern.

“Nothing important.” She re-wrapped the paper, re-tied the string, and blinked back any lingering wetness in her eyes.

“I’ll take that.” A man with an abundance of freckles, reddish hair, and a mighty scowl held out his hand. The other hand was buried in his suit pocket and looked to be holding a gun.

She glanced at Drake.

His right hand had disappeared inside his suit coat. Presumably, he too held a gun.

After the debacle earlier today, it would be a cold day in hell before she was welcomed back to Antoine’s. She refused to make a scene and find herself barred from Commander’s Palace as well. She held out the packet. “Take it.”

The gunman’s fingers yanked the photo from hers. He backed away. Seconds later he was out the door.

A waiter hurried to their table. “Is everything all right, Miss Lambert?”

Across from her, a thunderstorm had settled on Drake’s hewn face.

“Everything’s fine,” she assured the waiter. “Will our etouffée be out soon?”

“I’ll check.” He hurried away.

“What did you give him?” demanded Drake.

“Nothing important.” That much was true. Still, she would have liked to keep the photo. A memento. Nothing more.

Drake glowered. “What was it?”

“It was just—”

The waiter reappeared and placed shallow bowls of etouffée in front of them.

She smiled up at him. “Thank you. This looks delicious.”

“May I bring you anything else?”

Some sugar to sweeten Drake’s disposition? The man looked positively frightening. “No, thank you.” She lifted her spoon.

Drake leaned forward. “What did you give him?”

“Nothing. A photograph.”

“A photograph of whom?”

“Of me when I was a child. I suggest you eat. When whoever sent that man realizes he brought back something worthless, he might return.”

Drake pushed his chair away from the table as if he meant to leave that very moment.

“Just try the etouffée.” Steam rose from the bowl and she inhaled the scents of garlic and onions and perfectly prepared crawfish. She lifted a bite to her lips and tasted. “It’s delicious.”

A frown tightened Drake’s mouth and wrinkled his forehead. “for you here.” He was worried about her. That might be sweet if he hadn’t made it abundantly clear he had no interest in her.

Christine pointed her now empty spoon at him. “I asked for your help finding my father. I didn’t ask you to protect me.”

“You need protecting.”

“Not from a man who’ll disappear as soon as he’s able.” The words slipped through her lips unbidden and unconsidered. She wished them back. A momentary lapse, a peek behind the curtain, they revealed entirely too much.

One ill-considered utterance and she’d showed him everything. The yawning chasm of loneliness. The effort it sometimes took to face another day alone. The impossibility of believing in anyone but herself. Worse, she’d shown him how much his rejection stung.

He picked up his spoon. “What makes you think I’ll leave?”

She stared at him while her heart pulled loose from its moorings and rattled around her chest like a marble in a shoebox.

He dug his spoon into the etouffée and rice, seemingly unaware of the way his question had affected her. Seemingly. Beneath his upright, uptight exterior was a man of infinite bravery and intelligence. He knew what he’d done.

“I had a great uncle who used to delight in offering the children in the family candy,” she said.

Drake regarded her over another spoonful of etouffée, one brow slightly raised.

“He’d hold out a bit of taffy or a praline. But as soon as one of my cousins or I reached for it, he’d snatch it out of our grasp.
You’ve got to be quicker than that
, he’d tell us. My grandmother and the other adults would scold him but he loved his game.”

“Your point?”

“Don’t offer something you have no intention of giving.”

He stared at her, his eyes holding an intensity she didn’t recognize. Her heart, already rattling around her chest, ricocheted off her right rib then sped toward her stomach. Her mouth went dry and she reached for the water glass.

A moment passed in electric silence.

“What happened to your great uncle?”

“I kicked him in the shins and took the praline. No one blamed me.”

He snorted softly. “Of course you did.” He reached across the table and claimed her hand. “I won’t leave until you and your father are safe. You have my promise.”

But he would leave. She had to remember that because, if she wasn’t careful, he’d take her heart with him. She pulled her hand free and focused her attention on the meal in front of her. “Thank you.”

“I have a question for you.”

“Oh?” She concentrated on spooning a particularly succulent looking bit of crawfish.

“Why don’t you shoot to kill?”

Her spoon froze next to a mound of rice. He’d saved her how many times? He deserved an answer.

“My father had a friend, Uncle Beau, I called him. He was as big as a barrel with a laugh loud enough to echo over acreage. When he was a boy, he lied about his age and joined up to fight in the war. Toward the end, I don’t think they were too picky about taking boys. Every so often Uncle Beau would go into a rage over the smallest thing. My father said it was because of something that happened when he was a soldier. Something bad.

“One night, they had an argument…I don’t know about what. Uncle Beau got furiously angry. He pulled out a gun and pointed it at my father. His first shot missed. My father begged him to calm down. Uncle Beau’s second shot caught my father in the shoulder.” Christine reached for the water goblet.