Devil in Texas (Lady Law & The Gunslinger Series, Book 1) (21 page)

"Boo! Where you at? What did I tell you happens to
petite
gagas
, eh?"

Jazi squirmed at Wilma's scolding.

A rapid-fire discussion ensued. Thanks to Sadie's study of arias written by Bizet, Offenbach, and Berlioz, she was able to follow bits and pieces of the argument. But Cajun French, as it turned out, was virtually unrecognizable as a by-product of the European language that Sadie's music tutor had taught her.

"Allons!"
Wilma ordered in a tone that would not be disobeyed.

A sheepish Jazi hastily shed Sadie's clothes, kicking off the slippers and thrusting the hat into her hands.

Wilma was tapping her toe under the scandalously high slit of her tangerine taffeta. "And the gewgaws. Or you'll be making
do-do
without supper."

Sadie hid her smile. To make
do-do
was a term she did understand. In Cajun, it meant to go to sleep.

Sulking, Jazi surrendered the pearl necklace, a matching bracelet, and (to Sadie's amusement) a red satin garter. Then she scampered up the stairs in her own faded, thrice-turned calico, ducking Wilma's lantern and fleeing for the upper stories.

Affection crept across the Mambo's exotic features as she watched Jazi's petticoats flounce out of sight. "Even a house as fancy as this one is no place for the
chirens,"
Wilma said wistfully. "I told Mira to leave Jazi with the nuns. But she dotes on the child. Wouldn't hear of being separated."

"And Mira would be—?"

"A
protégé
. She arrived yesterday afternoon. Between the tourists, the convalescents, and the Farmers Alliance, the hotels have no vacancy. I could not turn her away. Not with a sick child."

Sadie frowned. "Jazi looked healthy to me."

"And yet her cough lingers. From a bout with swamp fever last spring. She does not yet have the stamina to run and play, like other children. I fear her lungs are scarred. But she makes up for it in other ways. Jazi is wiser than her years. She has the sight."

"That would explain how she bypassed the lock," Sadie said dryly.

"
Ca va.
I shall speak to her. Boo understands the importance of secrets. You need not worry
.
Mira won't be staying here for long.

"Now then,
chere.
" Wilma's cagey brown eyes locked with hers. "Why are you here? Were you not planning a seduction tonight?"

Sadie grimaced. Admitting Cass had foiled her plans would only prove to Rex and Wilma that she couldn't handle her ex-lover. Sadie didn't need that headache.

"Change of plans," she answered breezily.

"Oh?"

Wilma crossed the uneven limestone in a graceful strut, one which Sadie knew took hours to master, even though Wilma made it look as natural as breathing. When the Cajun finally halted beside the vanity, she arched a finely brushed eyebrow at Sadie's reflection. "Did you lose something?"

Sadie's neck heated at the reminder. Wrenching open the top drawer, she displayed her tiny, leather pouch of reeking herbs. "I... uh, just took off the
gris-gris
. There it is. See? Evil Spirits don't stand a chance around me."

"You are a pitiful liar."

"Wilma, be reasonable. I can't seduce Baron smelling like garlic!"

"Rosemary,"
she retorted testily. "And unless your snake senator has started rutting with bearded grangers, you've been nowhere near his bed tonight. You know the rules of my house. Put on the
gris-gris
, or it's back to the hotel with you."

Sadie scowled, draping the leather cord over her head. "What I need is a
gris-gris
full of echinacea," she grumbled. "And maybe some chamomile. That way, I'll have the ingredients of a nice tea to ward off a cold."

"You bear a death mark. How can you jest?"

"Humor keeps me sane."

The truth was, Sadie had damned near peed her pants the night she'd fled Galveston and arrived in Lampasas. Wilma had greeted her at the boardinghouse door with a shriek, lots of arcane gestures, and entreaties to Loa Eshu to protect her and the girls in her care. Apparently, Wilma had glimpsed the personification of Asrael, the Angel of Death, peering over Sadie's shoulder.

"Can we change the topic to something else?" Sadie said irritably.
"Anything
else?"

"Oui.
" Wilma propped her derriere on the vanity top. "How goes the battle for the button?"

Sadie shot her friend an exasperated look. "Any topic except
him."

Wilma chuckled. "You always were a sore loser
."

Sadie scowled. Letting Cass win at poker was another reason to be pissed at herself. "A
temporary
setback, I assure you. Cass won the battle, not the war.
"

"
Spoken like Aphrodite in Ares's arms."

"Don't start."

"Cass is dynamite. You are fire. Attraction is natural."

"Attraction is
stupid."
Sadie began the unpleasant task of gluing putty on her nose.

"
Mais well."
Wilma's lips twitched. "Take Cass to
gogo
, and the sizzle will fizzle. In time. Maybe."

Gogo
, as the Cajun called it, was the last thing Sadie should be doing with Cass. "And when Baron finally takes the bait, how do I explain I'm too busy for a rut, because his bodyguard is in my bed?"

"You say, 'You have competition, Pig Senator. Please me if you can.'"

It was Sadie's turn to fight a smile. "Now I see why you are the illustrious Madam, and I am merely the bawd."

"Not so mere,
chere."
The Cajun's dark eyes were much too insightful for Sadie's peace of mind. "Since you plan to sleep here tonight, I can only assume your stage shimmies failed to entice the right man?"

"Abysmally."

"It is said, the old bull is ailing."

"I'm starting to think the old bull's a
steer.
No wonder his wife doesn't sleep with him."

"Mrs. Westerfield has turned shrew. She blames Baron for her miscarriages. What man could desire such a woman?"

Sadie frowned. "You're
defending
that butcher?"

"Non.
But one must understand one's enemy in order to defeat him."

"Has he ever walked through your door since coming to Lampasas?"

Wilma shook her head.
"
And yet, he is getting his satisfaction somewhere. Only a monk can go without—and sometimes, not even then."

Thoughtfully, Sadie drummed her fingers on the vanity. "So what you're saying is, I have competition."

"A secret lover, perhaps. A mistress he hides from his wife."

"Great. Just what I need. Another complication."

Wilma tapped her lips, a far-away look stealing into her eyes. "To compete with such a rival, you will need a new weapon in your arsenal of love."

Sadie gazed critically at her reflection, trying to guess what Wilma meant. The woman had an uncanny way of intuiting future events. It was downright spooky. "Another wig?"

"No,
chere.
It is time to introduce a new player to the game. A worthy opponent. One who makes our pig of a senator rise to the challenge."

Sadie arched an eyebrow. "I'm listening."

"Senator Swine does not see you as you wish to be seen, so during your gala performance on Devil's Eve, let us show him what he's missing. Through the eyes of his political nemesis."

Sadie's breath hitched. "You mean Rex?"

"Mais oui.
Cass already believes you and Rex are lovers. He'll give the lie credence, should Baron become skeptical."

Sadie's heart kicked at this idea. It was brilliant, like all of Wilma's ideas. But was the cost too high?

Cass would never forgive her for "finally admitting," after all these years, that she'd been having an affair with Rex. More to the point, matters between Cass and Rex could escalate to lethal proportions.

As if guessing her concern, Wilma fixed her with a stern stare. "Do you or do you not want to see Baron pay for his crimes?"

"I do, but—"

"Then you must remember why you took this assignment. Baron must be stopped. He hides behind the trappings of his office, ordering the murder of innocent farmers, while other men—like your Cass—go to the gallows in his stead."

Sadie fidgeted. Everything Wilma had said was true.

"I just can't bear the thought of a high-noon showdown, that's all. Especially over me."

Wilma patted her shoulder. "If anyone can handle Cass's guns, it's
mon po po
."

"Your
po po?"
Sadie hiked an eyebrow.

Wilma blushed prettily. "Uh... policeman."

"Right." Sadie cleared her throat. Like Rex, Wilma was scrupulously discrete about her private life. But a body would have to be blind not to see how Wilma's eyes sparkled whenever Rex entered the room—and vice versa. Sadie was delighted they'd found each other. She just hoped their affair survived this mission.

"What if Rex doesn't... can't... well,
you
know." Sadie blew out her breath. "Wilma, he just doesn't
think
of me that way!"

Wilma looked amused. "You are capable of holding the man's hand, are you not? And stroking his cheek?"

"I'm not worried about
my
theatrics. Rex is the straight-laced son of virtue."

Wilma chuckled, as if at a private joke. "Have faith,
chere.
A mistress knows all her lover's secrets. Baron will want to know about Rex's campaign. He'll take the bait. You'll see."

Sadie bit her lip, envisioning an enraged Lucifire with blazing six-shooters.

That's exactly what I'm afraid of.

As if the matter was settled, Wilma rose from her perch and reached for her lantern. "I must return to my sodbusters,
chere.
They are clamoring for more liquor. Shall I arrange your invitation to a poker game?"

Sadie sighed, inspecting her pesky sideburns for signs of peeling. "You might as well.
Some
sodbuster in this town must know who took potshots at Baron. I'm hoping the sniper can lead us to a farmer with a big enough grudge, that he'll testify against Baron."

"Bien.
I shall have Gator watch over you."

Wilma turned to go. A moment later, the madam's spiky heels stopped clicking on the limestone.
"Qui c'est q'ca?"

Sadie glanced over her shoulder. Wilma had raised her lantern and was frowning at her stacks of contraband.

"What's the matter?"

"Perhaps nothing. It is just that I thought this crate of bourbon was under the Glenmorangie. To make the scotch easier to access when
mon po po
is in the house."

Wilma set her lamp on a pickle barrel and lifted the crate's lid. It was stamped with black block letters that read,
Ripy Brothers Distillery. Tyrone, Kentucky.

Sadie crossed to Wilma's side. "You're worried. Should I be?"

"
I do not think so..." But the madam's brow remained furrowed. "Perhaps I did not tally the bourbon correctly. I shall have Cotton re-inventory the Wild Turkey in the morning."

Chapter 11

As inky indigo spread across a cloudless sky, Cass grimaced. A hoity-toity gala wasn't the way he'd envisioned spending Devil's Eve.

Violins and woodwinds were making a high-falutin' noise in the gaily lit musicians' pavilion at Hancock Park. Everybody who was anybody in Lampasas had congregated here to raise money for the hospital's new wing. To Cass's way of thinking, this charity fandango was really just an excuse for a lot of rich folks to sip champagne, munch on snails, and show off gold watch fobs and diamond earbobs.

Oh. And to watch Sadie perform.

Apparently, his social-climbing ex-lover had become quite the darling of the Grand Park regulars. Even
he
had to concede that the way she'd filled out her skin-tight, black satin gown last night should have been grounds for a public indecency charge. He'd been sorely tempted to punch out Baron's lights when the randy old skirt-chaser kept ogling her breasts. Cass was almost relieved to know that Poppy had accompanied her husband to Sadie's recital tonight.