Dead End (8 page)

Any defenses she might have thought she had against him had taken a hike. “As far as I’m concerned, the woman I examined was one Bonnie Blue.”

“But her relatives didn’t show up to claim her, right?”

She didn’t know how he’d found that out. “No, they didn’t.”

“Please come for dinner. You can bring him.” He pointed at Gaston, who had climbed up to stretch out on her desk. His bulbous brown eyes moved back and forth between Reb and Marc as if there were a tennis match underway.

The pager at Reb’s waist rang, and she checked the readout. Immediately she snatched up the phone and punched in numbers. With a hand over the mouthpiece, she whispered, “Peggy Lalonde. First time mom-to-be.” She put a single finger to her lips, signaling for silence. “Hey, Peggy, what’s up?” She walked back and forth by her desk. “You’ve got two months to go and you’re doing beautifully—yes—yes, that’s normal. There’s a whole lot of stretching going on and you’re feeling that. No! No, absolutely not—it is
not
abnormal. Get a glass of tea and put your feet up for an hour. Nap if you feel like it. You do too much…
No!
I am not trying to take your mind off something serious. Peggy, I’ll get over to see you this afternoon, okay? Good. Later then.” She hung up.

“You’re unbelievable,” Marc told her. “No wonder they love you in this town.”

“How would you know if I’m loved here?”

“You’ve got to be. You’re a pushover.” A dangerous glint in her eyes changed his mind about pursuing the topic. “You’re exactly as I’d expect you to be. Completely involved and caring. That’s wonderful.”

She smiled a little, and he breathed easier.

“The house is being cleaned up. It’s a mess. But the gardens are still something. Come tonight? Please?”

“I hate to see a man beg,” she said and didn’t care if she wasn’t original. “Okay, I’ll be there.” But he’d raised some doubts for her, and they didn’t make her more secure about ignoring recent events. If anything he suggested was true, someone might have a motive for trying to scare her, to think seeing her dead would be a good idea, in fact. She needed help but didn’t want to cause a panic in Toussaint.

Some might say trading three years of unpaid medical bills and a player piano for a fourteen-year-old motorcycle didn’t show good business sense, particularly when Reb had been told the player piano was a valuable antique—after the trade.

Reb arrived outside her house on her pride and joy, her Ultra Classic, fully loaded except for the AM/FM cassette Ozaire Dupre, Toussaint’s “You want it, I’ll get it,” guy, had insisted tipped the deal too far in Reb’s favor. After all, out of respect for her occupation, he’d left the CB and intercom, and the chrome-trimmed Tourpack so she could carry supplies.

She mounted the sidewalk, noticed Oribel Scully’s bicycle leaned against the fence, and the yellow Jag that had to belong to Precious Depew, and braced herself. She drove through the front gates. Then she saw Precious Depew and Oribel seated on the steps to the house. Glowing in the neon orange workout clothes she wore to Toussaint’s tiny health club, Oribel clasped a showy bouquet of flowers.

Oribel bearing gifts? Now that was a scary thought.

“You’re gonna break your head riding that thing,” Oribel called. “A lady—a
doctor,
cruisin’ around town on an ugly brown motorcycle with all that flashy stuff on it. Not dignified at all.”

Reb thought her chocolate brown wheels were the most beautiful conveyance she’d ever seen. “Excuse me while I put this in the garage.” She wheeled the cycle around the house to a single, separate garage at the end of a gravel pathway and placed it carefully in the middle of the floor. Then she hung her helmet over a handlebar and removed her gloves.

When she returned to the front of the house, Oribel and Precious had risen from their perches and were standing expectantly at the door. Reb could have groaned with frustration. She didn’t want visitors. She wanted to take a long, bubbly bath, listen to some music, and get ready for Marc to come and pick her up.

As if this were going to be a date. Hah! All work and no play was making this girl dull and fanciful.

“Okay, ladies. Which one of you is sick?” If Precious, who had visited Reb the previous week, wanted her health mentioned in front of Oribel, she’d bring it up. “Clinic was over hours ago, but of course I’ll take care of you.”

“You always were somethin’ special,” dark-haired, gold-skinned, and voluptuously petite Precious said. Even in impossibly high heels, she didn’t come much past Reb’s shoulders. “Kind, that’s what you are. I don’t think you ever turned a soul away no matter who they were. We all know half your patients don’t have insurance—or any money.”

Precious was spoiled, but she had a sweet side, and when she smiled her expression was ingenuous. Her light brown eyes shone. A pretty thing. Reb thought about Marc’s revelations and wondered why women fell for Chauncey Depew.

“That’s a nice thing to say,” Reb said, still wishing her visitors would leave. “Let me open the door and we’ll go right through to the consulting room.”
And then they
’
d go away again—quickly.

“Will you listen to her, Mama?” Precious Depew said. “I think that’s just plain sad. A nice woman who doesn’t think anyone would want to visit just because they like her company. It’s been too long since we came by, sugar. Besides, Mama and me is parched. We need some of that good iced tea you make.”

Reb’s iced tea came from a mix, and she couldn’t recall ever serving any to Oribel and Precious. But she said, “You’ve got it. Come on in.”

They followed her straight into the kitchen, where Gaston slept in his favorite spot—in a puddle of sun on the chipped enamel draining board.

Oribel tutted at the sight of him. Reb lifted his nose and kissed it, and said, “How come I don’t get a better greeting than that.” She frowned a little. It wasn’t like Gaston not to rush to the door to greet her. He must be miffed—probably with the company.

Grateful she’d mixed up a jug of tea earlier, Reb filled three glasses and waved toward the back porch. “It’s nice out there.” Oribel showed no inclination to set down her flowers and carried them with her as she went.

Seated in facing gliders, they drank in silence. Reb’s daylilies crowded together, their colors alternately garish or delicate in the sunshine. They grew in wide, irregular beds near the porch, and their scent was sweet and heavy.

“Nice bouquet,” Reb said of the cellophane-wrapped explosion of color Oribel held. “Would you like to put them in water—just till you leave?”

“Oh,” Oribel said, looking not at Reb but at Precious. “Silly me, I forgot. They were delivered before you arrived, so I took them for you.” She held the flowers out.

Reb accepted them. Floral gifts weren’t something she was accustomed to receiving. The greetings envelope parted company with the staple that had held it to the cellophane and fell to the shabby wooden floor of the porch. Reb retrieved it, feeling certain the bent card had already been read. When she glanced from Oribel to Precious, Oribel looked truculent and held her lips tightly pursed while Precious shifted her curvaceous bottom on the glider and wouldn’t meet Reb’s eyes.

Peach roses, sprays of cream orchids, and fragrant freesias. Reb excused herself and went inside to put the flowers in water. And she read the card quickly.
Hi Reb: Looking forward to dinner. Pick you up at 6:30. Thought we
’
d drop by Pappy
’
s later and see
if I
’
ve forgotten how to dance. Marc.

The mention of Pappy’s took the shine off getting the kind of bouquet any woman melted over. Not that she minded visiting the dance hall on very rare occasions. Early in an evening, people brought their children to eat and dance. It was later that the atmosphere changed. But there was only one reason Marc wanted to go there, and it had nothing to do with dancing. He wanted to look around the place where Bonnie Blue had sung—where he was convinced his sister had sung and spent the last hours of her life. He was wrong, but she was deeply sad for his sense of loss.

She pocketed the card and rejoined the other women.

Oribel sniffed suddenly and turned her face away.

“Mama,” Precious said. No matter how often she pulled at her short yellow skirt it didn’t get any closer to her knees. “Oh, Mama, what is it? Reb, Mama’s cryin’. She never cries.”

Reb picked up Oribel’s glass of tea and gave it to her. “Take a few sips and tell us what’s the matter. It isn’t like you, getting upset like this.”

Oribel fumbled in a pocket of her orange pants and found a tissue to wipe her eyes. “I’m gettin’ silly in my old age, but I worry about you young girls. Maybe you’ve forgotten what happened here not so long ago, but I haven’t, and I’m not talkin’ about poor, dear Bonnie.”

“Don’t, Mama,” Precious whispered, her own eyes moistening. “That’s all over, thank goodness. I don’t want to talk about it. And you’re not gettin’ silly, you’re sharper than anyone I know.”

Reb hadn’t forgotten the killings that had terrorized Toussaint for months until a victim got away from the murderer and picked him out of a lineup. Or so the story went. Pepper Leach, the least likely murderer Reb had ever met, was in jail for the attempted crime, but although there was a lot of suspicion, and the town had convicted him, no physical evidence had tied him to the first two killings, and he’d been judged innocent on both counts. How she wished she could be sure Precious was right and the horror of it was behind them.

“I don’t know what this town is comin’ to,” Oribel said, sounding choked. “Used to be a person could go anywhere, anytime, and not worry about a thing. Now you just don’t know.”

“What made you think about this?” Reb said. “Bonnie?”

“Oh, Bonnie wasn’t anythin’ like them others, God rest her sweet soul.” She sniffed again and hugely, and Reb thought how hard it must have been on the woman to arrive at St. Cecil’s early in the morning to clean the sacristy, and walk right in on Bonnie’s body.

“Tell us what we can do,” Reb said, patting Oribel’s clenched hand.

Oribel made a choking sound. Never good at keeping still, she stood up and marched to the edge of the porch where she bounced on the toes of her sneakers. “You can stay away from that Marc Girard for a start. There.” She looked defiant. “Those Girards never do anything unless they want something. I came to warn you about him, and since I’m here, I might as well speak my mind. Those people kept their distance from folks they considered beneath them, and that was just about everyone in Toussaint. When that Marc was growin’ up he was the kind of boy who was too smart for his own boots. Couldn’t run around with the other kids because his pappy wouldn’t have stood for it, but he was good at going behind his pappy’s back and showin’ them ways to get into trouble. Instigator, that’s what he was. And his family thought he was a saint. He made a play for Precious, y’know.” She breathed in deliberately, expanding her lungs and expelling the air in long streams.

“Now Mama,” Precious said, smoothing the sides of her hair, which was wound into a puffy pleat at the back of her head. There was a ringlet in front of each ear.

“Don’t you ‘now mama’ me. That pervert put his hands down the front of your cheerleadin’ top and don’t you deny it. You came home crying about it.”

Precious wiggled a little. “Boys will be boys,” she said. “And that was a very long time ago.”

As Precious’s doctor, Reb knew that the cantaloupe-sized breasts that thrust from the woman’s chest wall were in good part manmade adornments and from a crop not more than ten years old.

“I don’t care,” Oribel said, “I’m worried about you Reb. Agreein’ to go out for dinner with that man. Goodness knows what he’s got in mind.”

Precious sniggered. Reb congratulated herself on her control in not telling them what she thought about those who read private messages.

“Father Cyrus would never forgive me if I didn’t tell him what’s goin’ on,” Oribel said. “I’ll have to get back to the parish house.”

“You will not talk about my business,” Reb said, growing annoyed. “There’s no need. I’ve known Marc just about all my life. He used to put up with me following him around when I was a little kid.”

Oribel raised her chin and looked Reb over. “Well, you ain’t no little kid now, and when that man looks at you he’s got hot eyes.”

“
Hot eyes?
”
Reb shook her head. “You need to get out more. You’ve never even seen us together.”

“I saw the way he watched you when you left Father’s house yesterday. That’s why I had to come, to warn you. But now I can see he’s movin’ in fast and there’s no time to waste.”

“You’re making more out of the card you shouldn’t have read than is actually there.”

Once more Oribel sniffed. Then she burst into tears and returned to the glider. She would not be consoled. Precious flapped ineffectually around her, waving a hand like a fan.

“You think I’m too old to know what men are like,” Oribel said. “Well, you’re wrong. I know better than anyone. Oh, why did that man have to show up here after all this time and take after you, Reb? What can he want?”

Precious sniggered some more. “He wants what they all want. I never met a man who wasn’t horny.”

“No!” Reb said, appalled. “He’s looking for his sister.”

“His sister,” Oribel said, her tears drying. “Why, that doesn’t make any sense. She was gone from here years ago.”

Standing up and tugging at her skirt again, Precious looked disbelieving. “Is that what he told you? That’s a line I don’t think I ever heard before. I never set eyes on that sister of his, or I don’t remember if I did. But I’ve heard about her. A lush who slept around.”

Reb couldn’t bear all this. “Please don’t talk like that. You’ve said you didn’t know her. Why malign a stranger?” Chauncey Depew’s adultery with Amy was never directly mentioned.

“There’s got to be another reason why he’s here and runnin’ around after you,” Precious said.

“I examined Bonnie after her accident,” Reb said.