Hall, Jessica (27 page)

"Justin's got a great voice, but Elijah's eyes rock."

"Britney never dated Elijah."

"That's 'cause Elijah thinks Britney is a slut."

"Well, so does Justin."

What should have taken an hour turned out to take three with the
stops and the traffic. By the time they reached the city, the girls tried to
talk her into going with them to their hotel, where a local radio station was
holding various contests.

"You got a beautiful pair," the young coed said, patting
Sable's breast as casually as she would a cute puppy. "Plus they pay three
hundred dollars if you flash your tits for the guys videotaping everything.
It's easy." She got up on her knees as another car filled with students
passed them, and jerked up her T-shirt to jiggle her bare breasts at the ogling
boys. "See?"

Sable could only laugh. "Thanks, but I've got somewhere to
be."

"Your loss, honey." The girl had handed her a badge.
"Listen, if you still want to earn a few bucks, take this and go to parade
staging on Canal Street. You can take my place; I'm supposed to work one of the
floats tonight." She burped and giggled. "Only I'm so drunk I'd just
fall off."

Now that Sable was back in the city, she actually didn't have
anywhere to go. Dancing, costumed tourists sloshing their plastic go-cups of
beer choked the streets in unbelievable numbers, but she still felt uneasy, and
looked over her shoulder several times. She negotiated her way out of the rows
of bars and into the somewhat less crowded shopping district, but
found
the main streets had already been barricaded for one of the nightly Mardi Gras
parades.

She took out the pass the girl had given her and almost laughed.
Sure,
I could work a float. Watch the murder witness on national television, tossing
goodies to the unsuspecting tourists.
She clipped it to her lapel.
It
might come in handy if someone stops me, though.

She followed the barricades for about an hour, looking for a pay
phone she could use, but there were lines at every one she saw and she didn't
want to wait. As it was she felt like everyone was staring at her, and when she
saw two patrolmen working their way through the crowded street toward her, she
abruptly turned around. A trio of glassy-eyed coeds bedecked in strings of
flashy beads nearly collided with her before someone grabbed her arm and tugged
her to the curb.

Her heart nearly jumped out of her chest as she stopped in her
tracks and looked up into a stern, perspiring face.

"Hey." It was a man wearing a black jacket with KREW OF
ORPHEUS and PARADE OFFICIAL emblazoned on the breast in white letters. He took
the pass from her nerveless fingers and scowled at it and her. "You're in
the wrong place, and you're an hour late. Why is your hair red?"

"Sorry." She tried to think of an excuse. "Traffic
was insane. I got tired of being blond."

"Good choice, you're prettier as a redhead. Come on, I'm
headed that way myself—I'll give you a ride." He took her arm and steered
her toward a waiting car. "You haven't been drinking, have you?"

"Uh, no, sir."

"Good. Half the performers we've got are already too soused
to stand upright." He opened the door for her.

The official took her to the parade-staging area, where gigantic
papier-
mâché floats sat lined up and waiting for the night's festivities.
Hundreds of performers in outrageous glittering costumes wove in and out,
helping each other with enormous headdresses, adjusting feathers and shouting
out to technicians putting the final touches on the various props and wires on
the enormous floats.

"Get over to costuming," the official told her, giving
Sable a push in the direction of a huge striped tent just beyond the car.

Everyone was sporting some type of mask, so Sable walked into the
tent. Until she could find a way to get in touch with Hilaire or Remy, she
needed the camouflage. The moment she stepped through the flaps, two women
seized her from either side. "You're a size six, right?" one of them
asked while stretching a measuring tape across her chest.

"Seven." She winced as someone tugged the pony-tail
holder out of her hair. "Hey."

"She's the right height," the second woman said to the
first, then asked Sable, "You ever wear a hoop skirt before?"

An hour later Sable stepped down from a dressmaker's stand,
completely transformed. The two women had wrestled her into what appeared to be
an exact replica of Scarlett O'Hara's green gown from the movie
Gone with
the Wind.
The emerald velvet high-collared bodice and outer skirt shimmered
against the lighter lime underskirt. Her red hair was hidden under a bubbly wig
of chestnut curls and a hat festooned with black feathers and golden tassels.

"These are too loose." One of the women adjusted the
golden cords around her waist, which duplicated
the drapery pulls
Scarlett had worn. "There. I think even Rhett Butler himself would be
impressed."

The other woman humphed. "Remember, whatever you do, don't
sit down in this thing. The hoop will pop right up in your face, and everybody
in New Orleans will be looking at your panties."

Someone shouted for Scarlett from the front of the tent.

"Go with Gary." The woman pointed to a man hovering at
the front of the tent. "He'll help you onto the float."

The technician gave her the once-over before handing her a huge
armful of colorful plastic necklaces. "Have you ever done this
before?"

Sable shook her head and gingerly arranged the beaded strings over
one of her forearms.

"Okay, three things to remember—you wave, you smile, and you
throw your beads. Four things—you try not to move around too much." He led
her to a huge float where other performers were already being positioned around
a miniature model of an old plantation house.

"What's the theme?"

"Great Southern movies—you're
Gone with the Wind.
Did
you go to the bathroom? It'll be an hour before the parade starts, and you
won't get off until nine or ten tonight."

She nodded and followed him up the roll-away scaffold stairs to
the side of the float, where two waist-high metal braces rose from a small flat
circle. There was a black satin oval backdrop behind it, and two spotlights at
the front.

Not so high that I can't jump down to the ground as soon as we get
out of here.
She'd have to pull the hoop out,
but as soon as she
deflated her skirt she'd be able to blend right in with the crowd.

Gary helped her climb on, then got behind her and fiddled with
something. "Tell me if this is too tight." He wrapped a transparent
plastic band around her waist. "If you get into trouble, just call down to
one of the street performers. They can help you and they'll chase off anyone
who tries to grab you."

She swallowed. "They do that?"

"All the time, sugar, all the time. You can always give them
a good kick in the crotch, too—that always sends the message." Gary
finished making the adjustments behind her and patted her shoulder before
stepping off onto the scaffold. "Just relax and have fun."

She reached behind her to feel for the strap release. "Um,
how do I get out of this thing?"

Terri talked her boss into letting her have five minutes with her
cousin, although she didn't know why she was bothering. Caine had done more
harm to her career in one day than her father's lousy reputation had done in
eight years.

Don't forget about Cort blowing the whistle on you,
a
snide little voice inside her head reminded her.

Yes, she owed Cort, too, but first she'd deal with family.

Caine was lounging in the interview room, idly sipping from a
Styrofoam cup of water. The first thing Terri did after closing the door and
locking it was slap the cup from his cuffed hands. "Don't you look all
cozy. You having a good time, cos?"

"The best." He rested his hands on the table and
regarded her with a slight smile. "Detective Garcia's
gonna
get your boyfriend to drop the assault charges so I don't sue the city. But I
thought you were riding a desk from here on out,
chère."

"You country dumb-ass. Garcia told you that to give the DA
more time to get warrants to search your house and business."

He shrugged.

"Captain's given me five minutes to talk some sense into
you." She dragged back a chair and sat down. "Time to stop playing,
Caine. I know you wouldn't kill Marc LeClare, but you know who did that fire. I
know you do."

He laughed and shook his head slowly.

Terri waited until he was finished. "I called Billy
Tibbideau's wife. She wouldn't talk to me, so I called the manager of the
trailer park and got the number of her best friend, who happens to live right
next door. Lilah had a lot to say to me."

The humor faded from Caine's face. "Billy didn't do
anything."

"Lilah saw Billy leave home before dawn on the morning of the
fire. Before he left, she saw him loading some clear glass bottles and a can of
gasoline in the back of his truck. She said she saw him come back later that
day and get a shotgun. She also said you fired him." Terri leaned forward.
"You didn't mention that, or why your punching hand is all bruised and cut
up." She waited a beat before she added, "Feel free to jump in here
anytime now."

"You always had a nice imagination, Therese. You should write
books."

"I deal in reality, cos. Here's yours: The DA will hold you
on the present charges for twenty-four hours, while Garcia and the arson task
force try to place you at the scene. They've got motive. They'll check with
your
men, your friends, and your enemies. They'll impound your truck and have
forensics go over it with a fine-toothed comb. They'll show your photo around
the warehouse district, talk to people who were there that morning. I'm
guessing they'll find enough evidence and witnesses to indict. If you were
anywhere near that warehouse when it burned, they will charge you as an
accessory to the murder."

"Let them."

"Billy went to the warehouse district, didn't he? And you
went after him. Did you try to stop him? Is that how you bashed up your
hand?" When he didn't move an eyelash, she sighed. Now she knew how J. D.
must have felt, trying to get answers out of Sable Duchesne. "Caine, I'm
not going to let you go to jail because Billy Tibbideau killed that man and
burned down that warehouse before you could stop him. But if you helped him,
even in the tiniest way, I'll lock you up personally and toss the key in Lake
Pontchartrain."

"Poor cousin. I was wrong about you." All the anger
vanished from his eyes, and for a moment he looked a little sad. "Go back
to work, Therese. There is nothing you can do for me now."

Garcia came in, looking as happy as Terri felt. "You've had
your five, Ter." He went around the table. "Stand up, Mr.
Gantry."

She got to her feet. "Herb, please. I just need a couple more
minutes with him."

"Can't do it." He took out his keys and removed the
handcuffs. "Mr. Gantry has some good friends somewhere." To Caine he
said, "You're free to go."

Terri blinked. "Wait a minute. Does the DA know about
this?"

"The DA's springing him. All charges have been
dropped."
Garcia pocketed his keys on his way out. "Have a nice day."

Billy waited in his trailer, and drank the rest of his whiskey
while he waited.

She left me.

He'd woken up in his truck to find his shotgun and shells gone.
He'd walked into his trailer to find Cecilia gone, along with all her clothes.
He'd gone to Lilah's and kicked in the door, but their neighbor had packed and
left, too.

She left me.
His damn thieving wife had run off.
For
a dyke stripper.

Cecilia had made a tragic mistake this time. Billy would find her
eventually. Caine would understand— he might even help him look. Caine believed
in the sanctity of marriage.

Had she been with Lilah all this time? Sneaking over there behind
his back? He wouldn't put it past her. They said once a woman violated God's
law by diddling with another woman, it ruined her forever.

She left me.

Billy never wanted to touch her again. He'd only do what had to be
done, what any self-respecting man would do. As soon as he had his money—which
would be any minute—he'd hunt those two bitches down and send them to burn in
hell.

The phone rang, and he nearly tore it off the wall answering it.
"Cecilia? You'd better get your ass on home right now—"

The Krewe of Orpheus parade flowed out from the staging area in
slow but majestic procession. Sable
could hear the sounds of a
beautiful man's voice singing a famous Sinatra tune as the screams and the
whistles erupted from the packed streets. Her own float was toward the end of
the line, so she tried again to release herself from the brace strap.