Hall, Jessica (22 page)

"A safe place." He rose and shook hands with Old Martin.
"Thank you for putting us up for the night." To Remy, he said,
"I'll look after her."

"You'd better,
chèr."
Remy shouldered his
shotgun. "Or next time, I won't wake you up first."

"Here, Isabel." Colette brought a large, covered basket
to the table. "I packed some things for you. Hilaire, you be careful on
the water." She twisted her hands in her apron as she turned to Sable.
"And you,
ch
è
re, you
don't do anything foolish. Stay with
Jean-Delano—let him take care of you."

Cecilia didn't see Billy's truck until she walked out to the
clothesline. He wasn't in the trailer, so she put down the basket and walked
around to their narrow driveway.

Billy lay curled up on the front seat, a mostly empty bottle of
whiskey cradled in his arms.

He's sleeping with his true love,
she
thought.
Instead of me.

"Pssst." Lilah waved at her from the door of her
trailer. "Come here."

Cecilia checked Billy again, but from the deep way he was snoring,
it appeared he'd be out for a couple hours. Carefully she walked across the
yard and up to Lilah's trailer. "What is it?"

"Come inside." For once Lilah looked nervous.
"Hurry."

Cecilia climbed up the stairs. Lilah had a nice double-wide, and
she'd decorated the inside in her favorite colors of orange, red, and purple.
Billy said it looked like a whorehouse on wheels, but Cecilia always thought
the bright colors were cheerful.

"I saw Billy in the truck when I got home from work this
morning." Her neighbor led her back to her bedroom. "I looked inside
and saw this on the floor, so I took it." She pointed at the quilt on her
bed.

Cecilia stared at her husband's shotgun and the box of ammunition.
"Oh, Lilah. He'll be so mad."

"No, he won't—and he won't go shooting anyone, either."

"You can't keep it. What if he comes over here? What if he
finds out you took it?"

"I don't think he will, but...." Lilah opened the
shotgun and removed the cartridges, which she put in the box. She bent over and
stuffed the box under her mattress. "There. Now he can't shoot me if he
does."

"I can't let you do this." Cecilia reached for the gun.
"You don't know how angry he gets."

Lilah tossed the weapon back on the bed and took her hands.
"Honey, I've been listening to that man get angry at you for two years.
I'm not afraid of him. He's
just a drunk and a bully." She
touched Cecilia's cheek. "I can't sit back and watch him hurt you
anymore."

"He doesn't hit me."

"I know what he makes you do." She glanced at her
bedroom window, which was only a few feet from Cecilia's trailer. "I have
to listen to it every night."

"Oh, Lord." Utterly mortified, she rushed to the door,
but Lilah stopped her.

"CeeCee, wait." Her neighbor glanced over her shoulder
at Billy's truck. "Now you've got me watching him all the time like you
do. You have to leave that man, honey, or one of these days he's going to kill
you."

"You don't understand." Cecilia shook her head. "I
don't have anyone else."

"You sure you know the owner?" Hilaire asked as she and
J. D. finished tying the moor lines of her boat to the lone pier jutting out
from the empty-looking lakefront property. When he nodded, she sighed.
"All right, then, but if anyone comes out here with a Doberman, I'm
jumping back in the boat and you all are on your own."

Sable had been tense, ever since they had left the Tchefuncte
River and cruised toward the northern shore area of Lake Pontchartrain. Hilaire
had hidden both of them under a tarp, which had been a good thing, considering
two of Caine's men had stopped her to ask if she'd seen them.

Lying still and silent under the tarp with J. D. right next to her
had been worse than sharing a bed with him last night. At least then he hadn't
held a gun in his hand.

After avaricious companies had nearly deforested the area while
building the city of New Orleans, the former timber boomtown had been
transformed into an exclusive resort area by one of the wealthiest members of
Creole society. Wishing to escape the heat of the city, the rich man had bought
up thousands of acres and had even built a plantation at the very edge of the
lake, to which he invited his equally wealthy friends.

Now the property had been divided up and parceled out to several
families, but all of them were rich, if not richer than the original settler.
They were definitely back on J. D.'s territory.

"It's back a ways." He pointed to a white-painted
boardwalk winding from the bank up into the thick groves of old oak trees.
"It's safe. No one will bother us here."

"I hope so." Sable climbed onto the side of the boat to
step up onto the pier, then reached up as J. D. helped her out.

"Can you stick around for a few hours?" J. D. asked
Hilaire.

"I guess." She handed Colette's basket up to Sable. T
left Lacy in charge of the store, and she probably won't bankrupt me until
after dinnertime. Why?"

"I need to borrow your boat."

Hilaire's pretty eyes went wary. "I don't know about that,
Jean-Del. I'm more partial to this boat than I am to my mama's cherrywood hope
chest."

"I won't let anything happen to it. We'll need some
supplies." He pointed to one of the pretty marinas a few miles down the
shoreline, where there were a number of shops. "I don't want to leave
Sable by herself, and if s better if no one sees her."

"What about you?" her cousin demanded. "Caine's men
are looking for you, too."

He took the straw hat from her head and put it on his own.
"Better?"

Hilaire rolled her eyes. "Makes a bigger target."

"It's all right, Hil," Sable said. "He knows what
he's doing."

"Don't make me regret this, Jean-Del." She sighed and
handed him the keys. "And don't lose my hat."

He helped her up onto the pier and gave her one of his
heart-stopping smiles. "You won't, honey."

As they left the pier and followed the boardwalk back into the
woods, Sable noticed signs that someone had been caring regularly for the
property. The ground cover beneath the trees had been allowed to grow wild, but
the shrubs and flowers lining either side of the boardwalk had been neatly
trimmed back. "Does your friend have a groundskeeper?"

"No, she takes care of it herself." He led them down a
short flight of stairs and across a mowed expanse of short green grass to a
charming little red-roofed cottage.

As Sable watched J. D. remove a key from a planter on the front
porch, she felt her cousin nudge her. "What?"

"She
takes care of it herself," Hilaire
repeated in a whisper, and rolled her eyes. "Plus she leaves out a key for
him. Now don't that beat all."

"So he has a female friend." Sable was trying hard not
to dwell on it. "His partner is a woman, too. It could be her."

"A cop, with a place like this?"

"Okay, then a family friend." Jean-Del came from money;
he would know people with money.

"Oh, yeah." Hilaire snorted. "I bet the man is just
surrounded
by female friends of the family."

J. D. let them into the cottage, which was beautifully
furnished
with airy white wicker furniture and a distinct, crisp nautical theme. The
combination was unusual—both masculine and feminine—but Sable liked it. He
tried one of the light switches, and an overhead ceiling fan spun lazily into
life.

"There's a kitchen and pantry, in through there," he
said, indicating a door at the left. "Bathroom and bedrooms on the other
side."

Sable handed the basket to her cousin. "Put this in the
kitchen, would you, Hil?" When her cousin departed, she nodded toward the
lake. "You are coming back."

"Yeah, I am." He came to her, and took one of her hands
in his. "I don't like letting you out of my sight, either."

"It's not that." She looked down at the beautifully
patterned rug under her feet. "Hilaire would kill you if you ran off with
her boat."

"Then I'll hurry." He ran the back of his hand down her
cheek, then nudged her chin up to give her a quick, hard kiss. "You stay
inside and out of trouble."

Cort made some phone calls and ran some case files on his computer
at home, then dressed and went down to get a cup of coffee before he went in to
work. His mother intercepted him in the kitchen and gently maneuvered him into
staying to have a light brunch with her.

"I didn't get to finish my breakfast earlier, and I never
have a chance to see you anymore," Elizabet chided. "Surely you can
spare me thirty minutes before you go into work?"

Her smile wasn't reaching her eyes, Cort thought. Which meant trouble.
"You look upset."

"It's hunger pangs." She steered him out to the dining
room.

His mother didn't eat much, but she did talk quite a bit, all
about her plans for the Noir et Blanc Gala and how important it was for Cort to
bring a suitable escort.

"After all," Elizabet said, "Evan will be here with
his wife, and J. D. will be escorting Moriah. We wouldn't want you to
appear..." She made a small, graceful gesture.

"Hard up for a woman?" he offered.

She frowned. "Are you?"

"No."

"Good." She went back to picking at Mae's excellent
omelette. "Because if you were, you know, I could arrange for one of
Moriah's friends to accompany you."

"Don't worry, Mother." He kept the irony out of his
voice when he added, "I'm sure I can find my own date."

"Please don't leave it until the last minute, Cortland."
She didn't look up as his father walked in. "I would like to send a formal
invitation out as a courtesy to whomever you invite."

"We should cancel it," Louie said.

Cort glanced at his father, and then his mother. From their
expressions, it appeared he wasn't here to eat brunch so much as to act as a
buffer.

"Why do you think that, Louie?"

"Marc's dead." He made an abrupt gesture. "I don't
feel like that's something to celebrate."

Rather than reacting with horror at the suggestion, Elizabet
refolded her napkin. "I know how you feel,
my dear, but think.
Marc would have wanted us to go on as if everything were normal."

"If I had been murdered," Louie flared, "my friend
would not have thrown a party a week later."

"Very well." Cort's mother's expression went chilly.
"If you can't see the importance of carrying on the family tradition, I'll
cancel everything this morning. It should only take a few phone calls, although
I will have to send out some telegrams—"

"No, no. Have your party. Do whatever you want." Louie
stalked out of the dining room.

Cort was a little surprised—everything usually rolled off his
easygoing father's shoulders. "He's not taking Marc's death well, is
he?" Maybe that was the reason they were arguing.

"Marc was his best friend since they were boys."
Elizabet stirred a spoon in her untouched coffee. "He simply has to come
to terms with the loss, which he will."

"It isn't really about Marc, is it?"

His mother glanced at him, then sighed. "No."

"Do I want to be in the middle of this?"

Elizabet's lips formed a reluctant curve. "Probably
not."

"Then I'm going to work." He rose and went over, and
kissed the top of his mother's head. "Get him a box of cigars. That's
always worked for me."

"Cortland!" Elizabet swatted at him.

On the drive to headquarters, he ran through a mental list of
women to ask to his mother's annual fashion fest. Since Moriah had made J. D.
her target for immediate engagement, Cort hadn't bothered to date among the
social set much. His mother would know a suitable girl from a good family for
him, but if he asked her to handle it, she'd want him engaged to the
girl
within six months. It would just be easier to ask someone from work.

I'm sure you'll understand that I'm a little too damn busy to hold
your hand right now.

Why he thought of Terri Vincent at the moment was a complete
mystery to him. His brother's partner probably didn't own a dress, much less
know how to conduct herself at a formal social function. She was more at home
drinking beer and eating peanuts with her cop friends in the Quarter. J. D. had
always insisted their mother invite Terri every year, and yet she had never
shown up once. Cort doubted she'd even bothered to RSVP Elizabet about the
invitation.