Ciji Ware (51 page)

The woman appeared startled by Daphne’s overt lack of Southern graciousness. “I’m sorry to hear that you don’t think we can even just be pals,” Francesca replied pleasantly. “I try to keep my professional and personal lives separate. I’ve merely been hired to do a job here. The basis of our democracy is that everyone is entitled to representation, even corporations, wouldn’t you agree?”

“The standard lawyer’s defense when defending the indefensible,” Daphne replied.

Wow, did that sound acid
, she thought ruefully. She hated that Jack’s sneaky maneuvers ruffled her feathers so much that she suspected the worst of anyone associated with him—but there it was. If Francesca Hayes was willing to work for Jack, she could be no friend of hers. Worse still, the woman had come to Mississippi to help defeat Bailey Gibbs’s effort to save the nature preserve on his land, and that fried her oysters big time.

“I didn’t chase any ambulances,” Francesca noted mildly. “I was called in on this case. And when the public has a chance to see the specifics of what Able Petroleum proposes to do when it comes to responsibly disposing of toxic waste, I’m certain fair-minded people will frame these issues differently.”

“Do you include Sim in that ‘fair-minded’ category?” she asked, despite her best intentions to keep her mouth shut.

“Sim’s always been a fair man.”

Now that she’d brought it up, Daphne wanted to get off the subject of Simon Hopkins—pronto. “So, according to you, it’s responsible policy to site a toxic dump next to a bird sanctuary?”

“The specific placement is all part of the ongoing debate,” Francesca responded smoothly. “I’m just in Mississippi to help find a compromise that everyone can live with.”

Daphne’s rat detector had started to twang from the moment she’d spotted Jack and Francesca through the small windows in the kitchen’s double door. She was faintly chagrined for acting so churlish, but there was something about Francesca that instinctively made her want to scratch the woman’s eyes out. For a take-no-prisoners lawyer with a national reputation as Queen of the Mean, she was being too nice and too tolerant of overt rudeness, Daphne judged. Francesca Hayes and Jack Ebert had stayed overlong at tea, and the consulting attorney for Able Petroleum was trying much too hard to become her new best friend. Something definitely was up.

“You know, Daphne,” Francesca said as if they knew each other well, “Jack would have turned up my name pretty fast as a potential consulting counsel even if he hadn’t run into Sim.” She paused, and added pleasantly, “And I really
do
love harp music. It was foolishly impulsive of me to run in here and tell you how good I think you are.”

Impulsive? This was a woman who probably didn’t make a move without five good reasons.

Then Daphne admonished herself for her visceral reaction. Maybe her instinctive antipathy toward Sim’s ex-wife was motivated by simple jealousy? Meeting her like this was just plain weird, not to mention ridiculous on about ten different levels. She could easily be reading things into the situation that weren’t really there. Daphne composed her features into what she hoped was a neutral expression.

“I appreciate your kind words about my playing,” she said evenly, “but, honestly, Ms. Hayes, I doubt you and I could be much in the way of kindred spirits.”

“We could try,” Francesca ventured with a friendly grimace. “It looks like I’ll be around for a couple more months.”

Daphne glanced at their reflections in the mirror above the sinks and found to her surprise that she had begun to feel a little sorry for Francesca Hayes. Who knew better than a musician how lonely it could get plying one’s craft away from home? She hoped her next words sounded conciliatory and made up for her testiness earlier.

“Maybe under other circumstances we could be… friends. Given the reality, though, I think I’d better just skadaddle back to work.”

Daphne had reached the door by the time Francesca spoke again.

“I’m sure you’re probably wondering why it didn’t work out for me with a dishy guy like Sim.”

Daphne halted her forward motion, one hand on the doorknob. She turned her head toward her right shoulder, listening. The awful truth was, she was dying to know.

Francesca saw her hesitation and continued. “You seem like a really nice person, so I’m going to tell you.”

Unable to help herself, Daphne turned around. “Look, I—”

“Here’s the deal in a nutshell,” Francesca interrupted. “Ten years ago, Sim Hopkins valued his Canon camera a lot more than the woman in his life. I have no idea if things have changed. In fact, I’m rather curious to find out.”

Daphne wondered if Francesca expected her to provide an update—Or was the woman’s game plan to explore her past relationship with Sim while she was in the area? For a long moment, Daphne stared at Sim’s former wife, suddenly imagining her pregnant, frightened about possibly losing her baby, and then miscarrying in a San Francisco hospital while her husband was off in some wilderness, unavailable and out of touch. Daphne sensed that there could easily be a lot of unresolved emotions on Francesca’s side, as well as Sim’s.

What
have
I
gotten
myself
in
the
middle
of
here?
she wondered bleakly.

She advanced a step back into the restroom, grateful no one else had barged through the door. “I know it can be hard balancing two major careers with home and family,” Daphne replied softly. “I’m sure you both tried your best.”

Francesca appeared startled by the clear show of empathy in Daphne’s tone. Then her lovely features hardened. “Is that what Sim told you? That we
both
tried?”

“No,” Daphne said slowly, reaching for the doorknob that offered her only escape. “I just surmised that part on my own—knowing Sim—and meeting you like this. My guess is that there were probably no major villains at work in this case. Just sadness and disappointment on both sides that it didn’t work out.”

After all, each of them had suffered the loss of a child
…

“It was a bit more complicated than that,” Francesca replied sharply.

“Isn’t it always?” Daphne said, wondering, now, exactly what details Sim might have left out—and Jack might have included—in the stories of how these two wildly different, but equally unhappy relationships ended?

“I really am interested to hear the version Sim gave you,” Francesca said in a tone one degree shy of nasty. “Tell me… did he describe how ‘desperately sorry’ he was that I lost the baby?”

For
Francesca, too, the wound was still raw.

“He did, actually,” Daphne replied, gazing at the thin, compressed slash of coral lipstick that Francesca’s mouth had become. “And I believed him.”

“Oh,” Francesca said shortly.

“Listen,” Daphne intervened. “This is not a conversation that two complete strangers in a ladies’ room should be having.”

“Why not?” Francesca demanded, shifting gears suddenly and sounding like the hardball attorney she was trained to be. “Wasn’t Sim supposed to be back from South America by now? Aren’t you interested in getting an expert’s opinion about the man I married and that you’re probably sleeping with?”

“From you?” Daphne interrupted, abruptly pushing the door open. “In a word,
no.
Gotta go.”

She bolted from the restroom and virtually ran through the rear of the restaurant toward the lounge, seeking the safety and anonymity of plucking out “Claire de Lune” on her gilded harp. Jack Ebert had apparently paid his bill and cleared out. Mission accomplished.

The question was: what were they after? Information? Revenge? Or had Francesca Hayes her own agenda that had nothing to do with Jack Ebert? Had she eagerly accepted an assignment that would bring her in contact with the husband she both loved and hated, and may have, at times, regretted she’d walked out on ten years ago? She’d already managed to find out—probably from Bailey—that Sim had gone to South America. What better tactic than to suggest to his current ladylove that he was nothing but trouble?

And then again, what if Simon Hopkins
was
nothing but trouble? A man who didn’t show up when the chips were down?

Stir
the
pot
, she thought grimly of Jack, who’d started it all.
Stir
the
pot, indeed.

***

Cousin Maddy greeted Daphne with news that made her wonder if she shouldn’t have pumped Francesca Hayes for a hell of a lot more information.

“You just missed Sim’s call,” Maddy reported sympathetically. “The bush plane had engine trouble wherever he is in South America, which means he can’t get to Rio to catch a jet back to Miami. He’s not even sure when he’ll get out of there. Probably not till the end of next week.”

“Next
week
?” Daphne wailed. She suddenly had a clearer notion of what it must have been like for Francesca Hayes to play lady-in-waiting to Sim’s errant knight.

“He sounded so sorry on the phone,” Maddy assured her quickly.

“Yeah
…
sure.”

Maddy gazed at her cousin with look of concern. “Daphne, dear,” she said gently, “It’s not Sim’s fault if an airplane has engine trouble. I know how anxious you are to have him safely back. Frankly, I thought it was a miracle that he got a message through from wherever he was in the jungle. He had to ring off because his cell phone battery was about to go dead. What’s upsetting you so, darlin’?”

Daphne heaved a sigh. “I just met Sim’s ex-wife. She and Jack chose this afternoon to come all the way down from Jackson to have a cozy cup of tea at the Eola.”

“Goodness me!” Maddy said, patting the back of one of the kitchen chairs. “You poor thing. Sit down, sugar. I’ll pour you a cup of coffee and you can tell me all about it.”

“Thanks, but no thanks,” Daphne said, shaking her head. “I’ve got to dash upstairs and get ready for tonight. I’m due at the Under-the-Hill by eight thirty and I need to wash my hair. I wish I could take a nap. I feel totally beat.”

“Did Sim’s wife tell you what a bad person he was, or somethin’?” Maddy coaxed.

“She told me he cared more about his work than his wife. That he apparently didn’t try very hard to strike a balance between his career and his home life.”

And
she
also
admitted
to
me
that
she
was
curious
to
find
out
if
he’d changed his wandering ways…

“Well, if I heard him right, he sounded pretty concerned about not gettin’ back to Natchez and to
you
when he said he would,” Maddy declared flatly. “If it were me, I wouldn’t put too much stock in what an ex-wife says. Can you imagine the version of events Jack Ebert gives out ’bout you leaving him at the altar?”

Fair
enough
, Daphne allowed silently,
but
neither
Jack
Ebert
nor
I
have
any
second
thoughts
about
wanting
to
get
back
together…

Daphne shook her head. “I’m sure I
wouldn’t
enjoy hearing Jack’s version, believe me.” She gave Maddy a brief hug. “I’ll just be glad when Sim’s back.”

“So will I,” Maddy said with a satisfied smile. “I miss that boy. He reminds me a bit of Clay.”

“Oh, Maddy
…
”

“No, it’s a nice thing! He’s thoughtful in the same way Clay always was. Clay called his mama when he was gonna be late
…
brought little gifts when he came back home
…
things like that.”

Daphne was brought up short by Maddy’s description of Sim’s consideration and good manners. Francesca had said she was interested to find out if Sim Hopkins had changed much in ten years. What if he had? What if a leopard
could
change his spots? Which leopardess would he then invite to permanently share his lair?

***

Dusk had fallen on the river by the time Daphne reappeared downstairs to eat a bowl of red beans and rice before heading off for the Under-the-Hill Saloon. Maddy swiftly placed supper on the kitchen table and sat down across from her.