French Quarter (10 page)

She closed her eyes.

An outer door slammed and footsteps came toward Celina’s rooms. Jack looked around for something to arm himself with.

“Hey, Celina sugar, where are you? It’s me, Dwayne. I’d have come earlier, but I had to close and you know how things get.” Jack heard the other man go into the sitting room. “I called this afternoon, but you weren’t back. Celina?”

“In here, Dwayne,” Jack called. “In the bedroom.” There was silence before Dwayne called back, “Is that you, Jack Charbonnet?”

“It surely is.”

“Why, you devil, you. I had no idea. I’m such an innocent. Celina? You okay, lamb? Just say yes and I’ll be on my way. Big, strong Jack will keep you safe.”

“Quit the crap and get your rear in here, Dwayne,” Jack shouted. “Celina’s ill. We need a doctor.”

“Νο!” She sat up and gripped her stomach. “No doctor. I don’t like doctors. I’ll be fine.”

Resplendent in a rain-spattered burgundy and gold caftan and wearing gold sandals, Dwayne rushed into the bedroom and directly to Celina’s side. “What’s happened to you?” he demanded, glaring at Jack before stroking her hair. “Did he hurt you?”

“Don’t be silly,” Celina said.

“Oh, thanks for that anyway,” Jack muttered, and felt foolish. “Persuade her to let us call a doctor.”

“Persuade?” Dwayne said, giving him a pitying look. “I’m calling one anyway.”

Celina drew up her knees and rested her face on top.

“Excuse the camp getup,” Dwayne said, flipping through a little book he produced from somewhere beneath the voluminous caftan. “One of those wretched girls didn’t show up, and I had to go on. Happens all the time. Bitch. Wait till tomorrow.” He found an entry in his book, picked up the phone, and punched in numbers. A few terse directions to someone who evidently didn’t argue at two in the morning, and he hung up.

He stroked Celina’s hair again and frowned meaningfully at Jack, silently indicating that her head was wet, and that he was worried. Jack had known and liked Dwayne LeChat for years, and he couldn’t think of anyone he’d rather have around at that moment.

“How long will it take for the doctor to get here?”

Dwayne said, “Not long. Celina hon, would you like to put on a pretty nightie? Something cool. You aren’t hot, but I’ve got to tell you, you’re sweating like a bull, baby.” He caught Jack’s grin and made a small bow. “The English language has such infinite possibilities. I believe in using them just as colorfully as I can.”

“Errοl’s dead,” Celina said into her knees. “I can’t believe it. I know it, but I can’t make it stick in my head.”

“Are you feeling any better?” Jack asked, heartened by the sound of her voice.

“Tell the doctor not to come,” she said.

Jack’s and Dwayne’s eyes met, and they both shook their heads.

Dwayne went to a chest of drawers that had been painted white by someone who hadn’t done much painting. He held his tongue between his teeth, frowned, and began searching the contents of the chest. “Turquoise? No, it’ll clash with those horrible blue polka dots. I’ve got to give you some advice about the decor in here, Celina. You’ll just have to wear white. Nothing else will do.” He produced a short white cotton nightgown with a pair of abbreviated, matching shorts. “We’re going to turn our backs and you’re going to slip these on. Okay?” He put his selections on the bed.

“If you stop the doctor from coming.”

“This is not a time for striking bargains, my little flower,” Dwayne said. “Put these on, please. I want you comfortable. And I want to straighten up this room, so be quick.”

Following Dwayne’s lead, Jack faced the wall farthest from the bed and crossed his arms. In a full and beautiful bass, Dwayne broke into a familiar number from
Porgy and Bess.

“I had no idea,” Jack said when his companion paused for breath. “The last time I heard you sing that, you were Bess, not Porgy.”

“I’m very versatile,” Dwayne told him, putting a finger to his lips. “And sometimes I just can’t help myself, I have to show off.”

They were silent, listening to movements on the bed.

“Do you know that fabulous piece from
Phantom
?” Dwayne said. “Christine and the Phantom. You must know the one. He tells her, ‘Sing for me, Sing for me.’ ”

“Sure I know it,” Jack said.

“Oh, good. Shall we?”

Jack screwed up his face. “Shall we what? Sing it? You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Oh, be a sport. I’ll sing Christine.”

This time it was Jack who put a finger to his mouth. Celina had grown silent. “Is it okay if we turn around?” he asked. She didn’t say anything.

Jack raised his brows to Dwayne, and they both looked at the bed. With the sheet pulled up to her chin—and her sweatshirt and jeans in a heap on the floor—Celina lay on her back with one hand thrown over her head, the other curled into a fist against her throat.

“I think she’s got food poisoning,” Jack said. “Where the hell is the doctor?”

“He’ll be here. He was just finishing with his last client.”

“Client?” Jack said. “He calls his patients clients?”

Dwayne hovered over Celina. “Don’t be ridiculous. He’s a medium. In his spare time, naturally. He’s very popular, so I’m told. Personally, I have enough trouble talking to the living.”

“Is—” Jack motioned for Dwayne to join him at the bottom of the bed, then whispered, “Are you telling me this is some sort of witch doctor?”

“What do you think I am?” Dwayne hissed back. “The man has one of the most prestigious practices in New Orleans.”

“But in his spare time he conducts séances on Conti?”

“Yes, Jack. Loosen up. Some people accept the possibility that there may be more to the world than whatever they can see or touch. And they do say that séances can reduce the blood pressure. Al’s an internist. And he’s a very nice man. He’s good with people and he’ll put our little friend at ease. He’ll also tell it like it is. I don’t like the way she looks.”

Jack glanced at the bed. The only noticeable difference between Celina’s skin and the sheets was that she didn’t have blue polka dots. She opened her eyes and looked at him. “I think this is some sort of delayed reaction to what’s happened,” she said; and wetted her lips. “I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t feel awful.”

“What have you eaten today, sugar?” Dwayne asked.

“We’re wondering if you’ve got food poisoning,” Jack said. “They say most of us get varying doses of it.”

“That’s what it is,” Celina said. “Call the doctor back.”

“What did you eat?” Dwayne repeated.

“I’ve forgotten.”

The street bell sounded, tinny and echoing, through the thick-walled building.

“That’ll be Al,” Dwayne said, and hurried away.

“You picked at lunch,” Jack said to Celina. “Jeez, why didn’t I think of that? You didn’t eat anything. Or nothing to speak of. Did you drink at the Lamars’?”

“Oh, yes, I did.”

Her enthusiastic response made him suspicious. “What, exactly?”

“Um, spritzers.”

A strong booze lush. “How many?”

“One—a sip of one.”

Dwayne breezed back in with a dapper, damp, and prematurely gray man striding behind him. “Al Vauban. That’s Dr. Alain Vauban for our purposes.”

Bag in hand, Dr. Vauban went directly to Celina and smiled down at her. “Hello, Celina. We met at an auction at your parents’ house. Not that you’ll remember. I liked Errol very much, and respected him. His death is a great loss. There aren’t enough people like him.” He was, Jack decided, a small but handsome devil. The thought didn’t please him. A picture of him presiding over bumping tabletops wouldn’t quite take shape.

Dwayne slid a hand firmly around Jack’s arm and tugged. “Come along, Jacko. We’ll let the professional do his job.”

They went back to Celina’s sitting room, where Dwayne trailed around, clucking and threatening to do foul and deadly things to the furniture. He picked up a metal wastebasket, held it to his nose, and sniffed with distaste. “Something burned in here. I swear that baby girl will kill herself if we don’t look after her.”

Yesterday Jack would have protested that her welfare was no concern of his. Tonight he realized he couldn’t say that with conviction. “Waste paper?” he asked.

“Oooh, no. Somethin’ nylon—or maybe silk with some nylon. Looks melted. Rubber too. That’s the worst. Disgustin’.”

Jack’s interest was instantly piqued. He took the stainless basket and peered inside. He said, “Promise me you’ll forget this,” without intending to say any such thing. “Unless I change my mind. Okay?”

“Okay,” Dwayne said.

“It’s just that—”

“ ‘Nuff said. A friend I respect asks somethin’ of me, he gets it.”

“Thanks.” Celina had done a bad job of trying to burn the black underwear and silk bonds that had been in Errol’s room. Jack had already started to regret holding the evidence back—unless it did, indeed, belong to Celina.

Damn, he couldn’t get emotionally involved with her.

“Hush,” Dwayne said abruptly, holding up a hand. “I do believe we’ve got more company.”

They looked at each other and listened. There was no doubt that someone was climbing the outside steps from the courtyard to the second story.

“Let us not forget that our dear friend was murdered in this house less than forty-eight hours ago,” Dwayne whispered. “Could be whoever did that to him decided to come back for somethin’.”

Jack slanted a glance at the wastebasket and said, “Could be.”

The outside door to the corridor opened, then closed, and the footsteps advanced.

“We don’t want Celina upset anymore,” Dwayne said, going for the corridor himself. “I’ll deal with this.”

“Not on your own, you won’t,” Jack told him, and they went to greet the latest visitor side by side.

And stopped—side by side.

Jack didn’t tend to spend a lot of time analyzing men’s looks, but the man he confronted now was probably the most handsome specimen he’d ever encountered.

Dwayne murmured, “Oh, my,” under his breath, then, “Good evenin’, could we ask you to come into the sittin’ room before you explain yourself. There’s someone sick here.” When Dwayne said, “here,” it was so pronouncedly “heeyah” as to sound affected—which it wasn’t.

The very tall newcomer nodded and approached. Jack and Dwayne stood back to allow him access to the sitting room.

“Where is Celina?” the man asked, facing them. “How sick is she?”

The navy-blue slicker he wore dripped on the worn carpet. Jack noted that water beaded on well-polished shoes that were nevertheless old and deeply creased. His dark, curly hair was cut short and currently soaked.

“How
did
you get that wet?” Dwayne asked. “Where did the cabdriver let you out, for goodness’ sake?”

“I walked,” the man said shortly. “I asked about Celina.” If he was surprised by Dwayne’s caftan, he gave no sign.

“The doctor’s with her now,” Dwayne said. “She’s had a terrible day. We all have. A shock, you know.”

“Yes, I know. I’m deeply sorry about Errol. Such a loss.” His eyes were an extraordinary color, not blue or green, but a mixture of the two. Every line of his face was sharply defined and ruggedly perfect. He had the straight-backed, leanly solid physique of an athlete, perhaps a rower. “Celina told me about it on the phone. That’s why I came at once. Fortunately I had to come into New Orleans for a meeting and I’d given her a number where she could reach me when I got in tonight. I’m glad I was here.”

The phone call, Jack thought. He was sure he’d never met the man, yet he seemed familiar. “I’m Jack Charbonnet,” he said, extending a hand.

“Cyrus Payne.” A long-fingered hand enveloped Jack’s in a firm shake. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I said Ι was Celina’s brother.”

Jack smiled, and immediately hoped he didn’t look as relieved as he felt. And then didn’t want to think too hard about why he felt relieved. “I didn’t know Celina had a brother.”

“The
priest,”
Dwayne said, taking his turn at shaking Cyrus’s hand. “Of course. I should have known the moment I saw you. You look like Celina. Oh, priests are so fascinating to some of us, you know. So mysterious.”

Cyrus raised one very well-defined eyebrow and said, “Really?”

“Yes,” Dwayne continued, apparently unaware that he’d amused his audience. He gestured expansively and got closer to Cyrus. “I’m Dwayne LeChat, by the way. A friend of Celina’s. There’s a forbidden quality about priests—maybe a keep-away quality would explain it better.
Do not touch.
There, that’s it. It’s the whole thing—the collar, those lovely robes. You don’t even have to
say
anything to cast a spell.”

“I wish I could just stand in front of the congregation at mass and cast a spell without saying anything. How long has the doctor been with my sister?”

“Not very long,” Jack said. “She hasn’t felt well all evening. We think she may have food poisoning.”

Cyrus took off his slicker and looked around for somewhere to hang it. Dwayne took it from him and tossed it on a chair. “A little rain can’t make that monstrosity any worse.”

“Celina doesn’t care about material possessions herself,” Cyrus said. Despite already knowing he was a priest, the clerical collar was almost a shock. “She was born with her priorities straight.”

“Is that why she competed all the way to the Miss USA Pageant?” Jack began to feel his tongue was a liability tonight.

“If Celina wants to talk to you about that, she will.” The lady’s brother had a hard edge to his deep voice, and the eyes might just be able to see their way to a man’s world-worn soul. Not at all a comforting idea.

Dr. Vauban joined them. He nodded when Cyrus introduced himself, and took a seat on the couch, where he started writing prescriptions. These finished, he dropped the pad into his bag and took out a notebook. “I’m going to leave some instructions,” he said. “She’s tired. Emotionally as well as physically. She needs sleep and care. She needs to eat properly. And she needs understanding, support.”

“She doesn’t have food poisoning?” Dwayne asked.

“No, and she doesn’t wish she did,” Vauban said. “She’s resting now. She told me I could talk to you, Father Payne. I was going to leave a number where you could reach me. But we’ll chat right here, if it’s all right with you.”