Dead End (28 page)

That comment won him the attention of the other three. They stared at him, and he figured what they were thinking wasn’t complimentary where he was concerned. “Madge has to answer to Cyrus.”

“That’s really tough,” she told him.

“And Cyrus has superiors. I don’t know what you call ‘em, but I bet he gets visits, and has to trot to wherever, when he’s called.”

Reb stirred. “We’re straying. Spike’s one man doing the jobs of several. That was the point. He could use all the help he can get—
without
being made to feel inadequate.”

“Sorry,” he said. “Didn’t mean to knock the local sacred cow.”

“What’s got into you?” Reb asked, and Marc felt ashamed and foolish in about equal measures. She managed to just about turn her back on him and say, “What are you thinking?” to Madge and Cyrus.

“Just a minute,” Marc said. “I’ll eat the humble pie and get it over with. I could make excuses but I won’t. Spike’s a good guy, okay?”

“Okay,” Cyrus said while the two women gave Marc exasperated glances.

“Does anyone have any theories? About anything.” Madge’s intelligent eyes watched each of them.

“Just the basic but obvious ones,” Marc said. “I don’t think Pepper Leach is a killer—or not the killer we need. Why he isn’t putting up a fight to get out is anybody’s guess.”

“Agreed,” Reb said, and Cyrus nodded. “But whoever’s responsible seems to be shooting from the hip. It’s beginning to look as if Bonnie may have been murdered after all.”

“Why?” Madge asked.

“Why else would her body be—” Reb looked at Marc. His mouth was pressed shut, and there was a white line around his lips. “Why would her body be removed from the tomb if she died accidentally?”

“Because murdered or not, the body in that grave didn’t belong to any Bonnie Blue,” Marc said. “And whoever stands to lose if that comes to light knows I can prove it.”

Reb wished she could hold him. He kept on going, seeming okay, but she feared for him.

“If that’s true,” Cyrus said, “we’ve got to make sure you stay safe.”

Madge sucked in a noisy breath. Reb gripped the edge of the couch and felt sick. Why hadn’t she thought of that? Marc was worried about her, so were Cyrus and Spike—so was she—but Marc was just as vulnerable to getting hurt as she was. And unlike her, he had the masculine misfortune of needing to prove how brave and strong he was.

She was grateful when Madge said, “Cyrus agrees that Bonnie’s missing purse could be the lead we need. How about you two?”

“We search for it,” Marc said.

“There was a search,” Cyrus said. “Volunteers turned out. Must have been a hundred people.”

“Yes,” Madge said at once.

Reb added, “They searched for days and days, Marc. Even brought in a couple of dogs. But it was—there wasn’t anything to suggest foul play.”

“So everyone heaved a happy sigh and quit asking questions of any kind.” Marc stood up and shook his head. “Forget I said that. That’s what must have seemed appropriate at the time. We know differently now. We’re going to find that purse, and I’m going to see Amy’s possessions. What was there? One of you must remember something.”

“A few clothes,” Madge said. “One beaten-up suitcase. Toiletries.”

“Her Bible,” Cyrus added. “A gold crucifix on a chain—she was wearing it.”

Reb watched Marc’s face, but he wasn’t showing his feelings.

“A set of jacks,” she said. “She actually still played with those things. And a string cross on a leather thong. She also had a crystal ornament of a dove. Anyone remember something else?”

Cyrus and Madge didn’t offer anything new.

The picture of the man and the baby had been on Bonnie’s body. Reb could not speak of it, it had seemed so poignant and private. Spike knew about it, and he could make the decision about whether or not knowledge of it should be shared.

“Okay,” Marc said. “I think you’re right, and we have to make every effort to find the purse.”

“Spike—”

Marc cut Reb off, “I’ll tell him what I’m going to do.”

“I’m with you,” Cyrus said.

“Me also.” Madge didn’t sound optimistic that her efforts would be useful.

“And me.” She would, Reb thought, do it to support Marc. “I’ll also let Spike know and see if he’s got any thoughts. We’ll get plenty of help from the folks around if we ask for it.”

“Yeah,” Marc said. “I haven’t forgotten the obvious. The purse could have been stolen for money and credit cards.”

“She had no credit cards,” Madge said. “I know that for sure, or I think I do. Nothing’s come up about someone using cards with Bonnie’s name on them. And I don’t suppose she had much cash.”

Reb’s pager vibrated. She didn’t recognize the number but used her cell phone to call back. Peggy Lalonde had gone into premature labor, she was told, and the girl was begging Reb to come. She frowned and said, “Go on.” More information than “things are going fast” would have been useful, but she wouldn’t waste more time. “I’ll be there.” She got up and hurried toward the door. “Peggy’s delivering her baby early—too early.”

Marc watched her leave with a sense of loss. What the hell did he think he was doing with her? He couldn’t pretend he wasn’t starting to need her about as much as the air he breathed, but he didn’t have a good history with relationships—witness the fact that he’d never been in one that lasted. Was it fair to get in so deep when he might have to get out? He wasn’t forcing her to get involved. Missing her because she’d gone to work was out of line. She had her own life, and what she did was important. A lot of life-and-death stuff.

“Her keys,” Madge said, holding them up. “They fell out on the couch. I’ll catch up with her and save some time.”

“Marc,” Cyrus said when the sound of Madge’s footsteps thudded on the stairs. He cleared his throat and fidgeted. “I’ve seen wonderful results from our marriage-preparation classes.”

“That’s nice.” If this were happening to any other man, Marc would find it funny.

“Yes. My brother-in-law—Jack Charbonnet—he swears by a jeweler he knows in New Orleans. Got Celina’s, she’s my sister, he got her rings from this man, and other stuff. Good prices, Jack says.”

“Thanks for the suggestion. I’ll get the name in case I need it. Which hospital would Peggy go to?”

“Hospital? She’s at home.”

“You sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. They’re the kind of family who get born, and die, at home.”

“Where is it?” Marc sidestepped toward the corridor.

“North. Bayou side of Cemetery Highway, you can—”

“Thanks.” He had to stop her from going out there alone.

“I’m sorry, hon,” Amy Girard said. “I know you’re doing the best you can to help me, in the only way you know how, but I’m scared.”

Precious almost wished she could like the woman. If she talked to Father Cyrus about what she was doing, he’d tell her to forgive her enemies. But this woman wasn’t just any enemy—she’d been hurting Precious for years, only she hadn’t known Amy existed until April, when she’d got a call from the crazy bird lady in New Orleans. Amy Girard had been making a fool of Precious even as Chauncey proposed marriage. She’d committed adultery with Precious’s husband while he was on his honeymoon, and the adultery hadn’t stopped until Precious found out about it—too late to save her self-respect, or to wipe away the pitying looks in the eyes of all those who had always known.

At the end of April she’d threatened to leave him, and meant it, but he’d begged forgiveness and promised it was all over. But he lied, just like always, and his last-ditch effort to keep Precious—because of Mama’s money—had brought Amy to Toussaint looking for him.

Amy stood on a bath mat, shivering, her body too thin, too flaccid, even though it wasn’t hard to see what a fabulous figure she’d had. She caught Precious looking at her and wrapped herself in a towel. “The chain got wrapped around that.” She nodded to the toilet pedestal. “I couldn’t reach the shower.”

Among other things, Amy had also been unable to get to the canned food piled in the corner behind the door in the tiny room. They both knew Precious had messed up. One end of the chain was attached to a manacle on Amy’s raw right ankle—Precious had clamped the other end to a pipe and rushed away without checking it out properly. She couldn’t stand hearing Amy begging not to be left alone. Even when Precious was in the boat and rowing away, she would hear when the pleading turned to wailing and crying.

That’s why she hadn’t been back for a week. She shivered and took the top off a can of tuna. Forks were out of the question since they made usable weapons. “Here,” she said, offering the fish to Amy. “Go slow, or you’ll throw it up.”

Amy shook her head. “I can’t.”

Precious left her and returned with a clean dress. She didn’t get underwear because of the chain. “Get dry and put this on. I’ll take you into the other room so you can rest easy for an hour.”

Amy’s tears bothered Precious, and she went outside the bathroom. She pushed her fingers into her ears to shut out the sobbing, only it didn’t work. Thank god the faucet was close enough in there. She thought you died pretty fast without water.

“I’m ready,” Amy said.

With her gun drawn, Precious undid the chain again. She’d already moved it free of the toilet. “Walk ahead of me,” Precious said, gesturing with the gun barrel. Amy limped, whimpering each time the manacle dragged on her damaged flesh. “Sit there. Right there on that chair. Lift the chain and put your feet on the stool.”

“Yes,” Amy said. Her dark eyes had no luster. She sat down on the edge of the seat and leaned forward, making no attempt to touch the chain.

Precious lifted the woman’s free foot onto the antiqued green stool, then held up the chain and helped maneuver the right leg up.

Amy said, “Thank you.” Her long, gray-shot black hair hung about her face in matted clumps. “I don’t deserve any kindness from you.”

You
’
re not getting any, babe.
The damnable thing was that Precious felt something like hysteria clawing inside her throat, gripping her chest.

“If you want to finish it now, that’s okay by me,” Amy said.

“Shut up,” Precious said. “I’ve got my own thoughts, me. My own decisions to make. You were lucky I came home when I did that day. Don’t forget that. Chauncey was planning to kill you. He still is if he can find you.”

Amy pushed at her hair. Her sallow skin had a yellow cast, and purple pockets bulged beneath her eyes. “I wish I’d known you before,” she said. “You’re so good I think you would have given me the strength to do the right thing.”

“You got to eat,” Precious said, breaking a sweat. She backed to the kitchen counter where she’d heaped supplies from the boat. The box of crackers she wanted was in front. She opened it and returned to Amy. “Work on some of these.”

Amy let her put the crackers in her hands.

“Eat,” Precious ordered. “You don’t want to die. Say it. You don’t want to die.”

A shake of the head was all she got from Amy.

“
Say
it.”

Amy raised a cracker to dry lips and took a bite. “I don’t have anything to live for.”

“Well, then.” What did it matter to her if the has-been didn’t care about staying alive? “If that’s the way you want it.”

The scars of old needle tracks mottled Amy’s arms. She ate all of the cracker, and another and another. Precious got her a glass of milk, and Amy sipped from it.

“Look,” Precious said. “Don’t go thinking I’m some sort of saint. But I
want
you to trust me. I
need
you to trust me, so I’m using you. Do you understand?”

Amy’s laugh grated. “Everyone else uses me, why wouldn’t you?”

Losers irritated Precious. “That’s your fault. You know the old saying? You gotta lie down to be a doormat. Maybe you really hit the ground this time and there isn’t any place lower to go. That means you’ve got two choices, you. I’m going to offer you a way out.”
If she didn
’
t
change her mind.
“You can take it and move on. Get yourself healthy. Contact that rich brother of yours and ask him to help you start again.”

“My brother?” Amy’s head snapped up.

Precious ignored the reaction. “Or you can have the other. You can check out. It won’t be like goin’ to sleep forever on your own feather bed, but you’ll be just as dead afterwards.”

“Why did you mention Marc?” Amy asked. She actually had a little color in her face. “You haven’t talked to him? You haven’t tried to get money out of him?”

“Why would I do a thing like that?”

“Ransom. Don’t hold your breath waiting to get it—he doesn’t want to hear my name again, let alone
pay
to keep me around and bothering him.”

It was so sad when families didn’t have feelings for one another, Precious thought. She stood straight and wiped all expression from her face. “I don’t need money—not from anyone. Your Chauncey keeps me in fat city.”

“He isn’t my Chauncey,” Amy said quietly. “He never was.”

Precious swallowed and blinked. Must be a lot of dust in the air.

She’d always been too soft, but she usually hid it better than she had today. “All men are depraved. They’re corrupt, warped, self-centered, and perverted. They aren’t nice.”

“You’re tougher than I am,” Amy said, “Funny, ‘cause you’re about the best person I ever met.”

What was that stuff they said about prisoners and their captors? The prisoner became dependent, then tried to please?

Enough of that. “Chauncey wanted to put you in another woman’s grave. He was going to take her out of the tomb and give it to you.”

“Nice of him,” Amy said, with the first spark of spirit she’d shown since Precious found her. “Is that what he still intends to do?”

Precious considered. She felt daring. What did she have to lose by being honest with Amy anyway? “That idiot was supposed to let me know before he robbed the grave. I needed to be ready.”

“What difference does it make. The result’s the same. All he has to do is slide me in.”

Precious laughed. Amy might not think her companion was so special if she knew what Precious had intended to do. “Nope. That’s off. Your brother insisted on an exhumation—he thought it was you in there, see. Already in there, that is. He didn’t believe there was anyone by the name…” She puffed up her cheeks and tried to order her thoughts. “Marc Girard thinks you were using an alias and you got killed and buried.” And if Chauncey had treated her like a partner, worked with her, Amy’s body would have been there to oblige Girard—only it would have looked the way Bonnie had—with the necessary changes—and they’d have interred it again.