Bayou Bad Boys (18 page)

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Authors: Nancy Warren

BOOK: Bayou Bad Boys
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“Oh, I'm sure it's not—”
“Maybe not. Don't get yourself worked up. I'm his mother. What do I know? I think you're feeling something, too, though.”
Lucy buttered every square inch of toast. It gave her something to do. The eggs sizzled and Beatrice bustled around the kitchen. “I don't sleep with men casually, Beatrice. I gave myself all kinds of reasons why I wouldn't sleep with Claude, but”—she shrugged helplessly—“some things you can't help.”
“I know, honey.” Beatrice laughed softly. “Don't I know it.”
“How was your evening?” Lucy asked, determined to change the subject.
“Wonderful. I had a nice chat with—I forget her exact position—some bigwig with Tulane. I told her all about you and your research and she said to tell you there's a position opening up in the history faculty that you might want to apply for.”
“Really? I hadn't thought of . . . well. Maybe I will.”
“It never hurts to look into every opportunity,” Beatrice said cheerily.
“No,” said Lucy. “You're right. It doesn't.”
In truth, she'd seen the position posted at the university and she'd been toying with the idea of applying.
She was still thinking about it, but one thing she was sure of was that she couldn't make a career decision based on a man. Still, she'd be foolish to impede her own career for the same reason. So, she was thinking about it.
Since it was Saturday, she wasn't going to the university. She was sitting outside with her laptop, writing her mother an e-mail. She got as far as typing, “I think I've found the skeleton in the family closet,” when the skeleton said from behind her, “So, did you tell her?”
Claude. Her heart skidded at the sound of his voice. She turned her head, glad of her sunglasses so she could stare at her new lover hungrily without him knowing.
“Beatrice? Yes, I told her.”
He looked altogether too good. He was dressed in his usual business casual work gear and all she could think about was getting him naked. And soon.
“And?”
“She's okay with it.”
“Well, that's good.” He tweaked her ponytail. “Maybe you can stay over the whole night next time.”
She tilted her head so she could look at him over the top of her glasses. “Maybe.”
He leaned over and kissed her. “I'm going in to work for a few hours. I usually go Saturdays.” He sent her a mock serious glance. “That's when we make a killing on the tourists.”
“I bet.”
“Come by the main store later and I'll give you a daylight tour, then we'll grab some dinner somewhere. After that I'm taking you to Preservation Hall for some of the greatest jazz you'll ever hear.”
“Tourist stuff, huh?”
“You'll like it. Oh, and Lucy? Bring your toothbrush. You won't be making it home.”
Seven
Lucy was having trouble concentrating on her research. She'd done it. She'd taken her resumé and a nice letter and she'd officially applied for the position of assistant professor, tenure track. She needed to get hold of her mother and get copies of reference letters and a few other things.
And, she admitted, she needed to let Claude know what she'd done. If he freaked out, well, that was a pretty clear indication that their romance was strictly short-term in his mind. That was fine, too. She'd decided that whatever happened with Claude, she wanted this job.
Somehow she needed to tell him, though.
She took the streetcar home and walked the couple of blocks to Beatrice's place. She let herself in with her key, noting that her hostess's car was gone. She was alone, which was fine by her. She needed to think about how she was going to tell them—him. She might not even get the job, but she already knew that Beatrice and Claude knew everybody and if word got out she'd applied, well, she wanted them to hear it from her first.
She slipped off her shoes and thought she'd run upstairs, get her calling card, and then phone her mother.
A slight noise from the living room made her stop. Beatrice was out. Wasn't she? Unless her car was being serviced or she'd lent it to someone.
“Beatrice?” she called, walking into the room.
She stopped dead in her tracks, all the blood draining from her face so she felt like she might faint.
“Claude,” she said, and the weight of disappointment was so great she could barely get the word around the lead weight clogging her throat.
“
Merde.
Lucy. I thought you were at the university.”
“Obviously.” She found she was shaking so she sat down.
He was crouched beside an open safe she hadn't even known about since it was inside a chest she'd assumed was pure furniture. In his hands was the three-string necklace with the giant emerald she'd seen on the thin, rich woman at the historical society party.
She didn't think she'd have felt any worse if she'd found her brand-new lover in the arms of another woman. The betrayal felt as sharp. “I asked you if you were a thief. You never answered me.”
He'd half risen and spoken her name urgently. Now he settled back and stared down at the gems in his hand. “No. I never did answer you.”
“At least you're not a liar.”
He breathed a heavy sigh. “No. I'm not a liar.”
The doorbell rang. He cursed again. “Now what?”
“I'll go and see who it is.”
She walked to the front door and peeked out the peephole. Perfect, just perfect.
She opened the door to the glamorous police officer who stood there with a male detective at her side. “Hello, Lucy. Is Claude here?”
Her brain whirled. Should she deny him? Turn him in? While she stood there dithering, she felt Claude appear behind her.
“Isabelle, John. Hi.”
“Sorry to bother you, but I saw your car out front of your place and you didn't answer the door.” She glanced at Lucy. “I thought you might be here.”
Claude also glanced at Lucy. “This isn't a great time.”
“It won't take long. We need your help.”
There was a short pause then Claude said, “Come on in.”
Lucy watched him lead the officers into the very room where she'd found him with the jewels. He had balls, she'd give him that. She headed up the stairs to her room when Isabelle stopped her. “We'd like to talk to you, too.”
“Me?” She looked at all three of them. Then shrugged. This was a nightmare. A pure nightmare. “Okay.”
When they'd all sat down and the police officers had turned down her offer of iced tea, Isabelle spoke.
“There's been another robbery, Claude.”
“Really?” His voice was leaden. He must be waiting for her to speak.
“The Gimmels, Edward and Rose, were at the party Friday night. Do you remember seeing them?”
“Yes.”
“What time was that?”
“I don't know. Early. Nine? Nine-thirty?”
“Lucy, did you see them? The Gimmels are a wealthy couple. She was wearing—”
“I know who they are. Beatrice pointed them out to me. She was wearing the tiniest black dress I've ever seen.” She paused. “And a fabulous necklace.”
“Right. So you definitely remember that necklace?”
“Oh yes. An amazing piece. I'd know it anywhere.”
“Can you describe it?”
She looked at Claude as she spoke. “Three strings of fat pearls in a choker with a very large square emerald in the center. Claude would know more about sizes and so on. All I know is that it was stunning.”
“Worth a fortune, too,” Isabelle said. “It was stolen the night of the historical society's gala. Seems like it might be the same thief as the one who took the Guillotine diamonds. It went missing between two, when Mrs. Gimmel returned it to the safe, and four
A.M.
, when their dog started barking and they found the safe open. Same M.O. Nothing else taken.”
There was absolute silence in the room. Outside, Lucy heard a car drive by. In the house somewhere a clock chimed off the hour.
“Have you heard any rumblings, Claude?”
Another pause.
“No.”
“Can you check with your network?”
He nodded.
“If you hear of anything, Claude, or if a fence gets in touch with you . . .”
“I'll call you right away.”
Isabelle looked for a second as though she'd say more, then with a nod she and her partner got up and left.
Lucy heard the door shut behind them, and then Claude's soft tread returning to where she still sat stone still.
He didn't come all the way into the room but stood leaning on the doorjamb. “You didn't turn me in.”
She felt his gaze on her but couldn't look at him. “No.”
“Why not?”
Why not? Why hadn't she told the police that she'd seen him with a fortune in jewels in his hands not ten minutes ago and that they were stashed right here in this room?
Because in the moment she'd seen the police on the doorstep she'd known she was in love with her thieving cousin. “Because I'm an idiot,” she said savagely, kicking the leg of her chair so hard she bruised her heel.
“Are you planning to tell them?”
“I haven't decid—” She blew out a breath. “No. I've never done one single dishonest thing in my life until now. Not one. I don't have an unpaid parking ticket, an overdue library fine. Nothing. And now I'm an accessory to jewel theft.”
Claude came and squatted in front of her chair. The strained look was gone and she thought he looked smug. No, not smug, she realized. Happy.
What the hell did he have to be happy about?
“Lucy, I need your help.”
“What you need is a good defense attorney.”
“I want you to promise me you won't tell my mother about this.”
“Of course I'm not going to tell your mother. But Claude, what are you planning to do with that thing?”
He gazed at her with a slight frown pulling his brows together. “Put it back.”
“Oh.” Well, it was something at least. Maybe he was going to try and go straight. A sudden qualm assailed her.
“Claude?”
“Mmm?” He was rubbing her thighs but almost as though he were thinking about something else, so she didn't stop him.
“Is Isabelle involved in the thefts?”
“Isabelle?” He looked at her like she was nuts. “Isabelle's a cop. She's trying to track down the missing jewels.”
“Yeah? Well, cops can be on the take. I've seen
The Big Easy.
”
He shook his head at her. “This one isn't. It's . . . complicated.”
“Complicated? Calling this complicated is like calling Lake Pontchartrain a small puddle.” Oh, she'd found her family skeleton all right. And he was going to rattle her right out of her mind.
She heard Beatrice come in the house, and knowing there was no way she could see her hostess while the son's criminal activities were so fresh in her mind, she excused herself quickly and ran upstairs to her room.
What was she going to do?
If only she hadn't slept with him. She'd told herself she wouldn't. Then she'd been swept away by totally inappropriate lust.
Oh, she was in trouble now.
She felt like slapping herself. Hard. The necklace had been stolen the night of the gala. The very night she'd first made love with Cousin Claude.
How could he have slept with her and then calmly gone off and stolen a fortune in jewels? She wondered which act had given him more pleasure.
She stared blindly out of the window at the garden he'd made for his mother. He was always encouraging Beatrice in her hobbies. She'd thought that was so sweet. And yet here he was living a double life. She imagined him sneaking out of his house right after she'd left it, racing out to go steal—Wait a minute.
Isabelle had said the robbery took place between the hours of two and four
A.M.
She remembered creeping home that morning serenaded by early birdsong. That had been after five. She was sure of it now, because she'd checked her clock when she got to her room. Five-twenty. Claude had been far too busy making love to her between the hours of two and four to be breaking and entering.
She sat down sharply on her bed. If Claude hadn't taken the necklace then what was it doing in his mother's house? And if he had taken it why would he have stashed it at his mom's? Something was wrong with this picture.
But, with a slight alteration, everything made sense.
Lucy made her way back downstairs, hearing the rise and fall of Beatrice and Claude's voices from the front room.
She walked in and they both stopped talking. Beatrice wiped her eyes and said, “Oh, Lucy. You startled me, honey.”
“I'm sorry. It's just that there's a question I've been meaning to ask you. For my research.”
Claude was gazing at her with a warning expression but she sat beside him on the couch anyway and patted his knee. She'd promised him she wouldn't tell his mother what she'd seen, and she wouldn't.
“What kind of question? Something about the genealogy? I think everything's in the family Bible I showed you.”
“No. It's not genealogy. It's a little personal, but I'm curious where the family fortune came from. I understood it was inherited, but I can't seem to find anyone in the family who ever made a fortune. And believe me, I've looked.”
“Lucy, you're being nosy,” Claude snapped. “Stop it.”
“I am being nosy,” she said, keeping her gaze on Beatrice. “But I'd really like an answer. It's . . . important.”
Beatrice heaved a huge sigh then turned to her son. “I think it's time we told Lucy the truth, don't you?”
“No. Keep your mouth shut, Mother.”
“I think I've figured out most of it, anyway,” Lucy said.
“I told you she was smart as a whip,” Beatrice said to Claude, sounding proud.
“Mama, you can't—”
“Lucy's family. Besides, it's my business and I'll tell her if I want. I'm an international jewel thief, Lucy,” she said with an unmistakable note of pride. “My husband, rest his soul, was the true talent, but I wasn't half bad either. We were a great team for more then twenty years. Never caught, you know. Came close a couple of times.” She chuckled, the way another mother would, reminiscing over a particularly enjoyable family holiday. “Claude disappointed his father a little when he went straight, but you have to admit, he's made a fine success of his business and he learned everything about jewels and antiques from us, of course.”
“That's nice,” said Lucy, feeling something was required.
“It's very inconvenient that he's working with the police, though, very inconvenient.” She turned to Lucy. “Of course, I mostly only dabble these days as a hobby. I don't keep the money. Not anymore. It's a kind of philanthropy.”
“You need a new hobby, Mama,” Claude said with a bite.
“Then why don't you hurry up and give me grandchildren?” She beamed at Lucy. “I'll be a wonderful grandmother.”
“Back to the problem at hand,” Lucy said with determination, not liking the way the fanatical grandmothering gleam was being directed at her. “What are we going to do with this necklace?”

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