Fat Tuesday (17 page)

Keeping her voice casual, she said, "I have a i that aren't committed to anything else."

"I think it would be good for her, Pinkie," Flarra chimed in.

"She's been so despondent lately."

"I have not," Remy said.

"You've noticed, too?" Pinkie ignored Remy's protest and addressed Flarra.

She nodded, her black curls bouncing."For months she's been a real drag."

"Thank you."

"Well you have, Remy. It must be true if both I and my favorite brother-in-law noticed." She batted her eyelashes at him."May I please have some wine?" "No, you may not," Remy said, answering for him.

"Jeer, no public school. No boys. No wine. I might just as well live on Mars."

"Sister Beatrice would have a fit if we returned you to the convent tipsy."

"I bet Sister Be takes a nip on the sly. Can we talk about Mardi Gras?"

"Not tonight." Pinkie had let the conversation between her and Flarra go uninterrupted, Remy noticed. He was focused on her, and his hard scrutiny made her uneasy."What are you thinking, Pinkie?"

"I'm thinking how much I hate the idea of my wife rubbing elbows with riffraff."

"I don't even know what Father Gregory plans to propose," she argued.

"He may only want permission to add our name to their list of supporters, or to ask that we encourage our friends to contribute I won't know until I meet with him, but I'd really like to get involved in this project. At the very least, I'd like to personally present our check." few hours a week "Where is this new facility?"

"He didn't say specifically."

"Where did he propose the meeting take place?" "He said I could pick the place."

His index finger impatiently tapped against his wineglass."Why is this so important to you, Remy?"

How she answered was critical. For Pinkie to agree, he must hear something he liked."It's important to me because little Jenny didn't have a Pinkie Duvall appear in her life in time to save her. She wasn't as fortunate as Flarra and I." "That gives me goose bumps," Flarra said.

Pinkie relaxed and signaled Roman to refill his wineglass."All right, Remy, you may have your meeting. Here in the house. During the day."

"Thank you, Pinkie." "Cool," said Flarra.

Father Gregory hung up the pay telephone and turned to Burke.

"Their house, tomorrow afternoon."

During their previous conversation Father Gregory had given Mrs. Duvall the number of a telephone in the men's room of one of her husband's own strip joints. The sounds of bass instruments vibrated through the paper-thin walls.

"Their house?" Burke repeated, rubbing the back of his neck."I was expecting to meet in a public place."

"Well, no such luck," Gregory said."So it's no go, right? You have to ditch the plan." Upon reflection, Burke said, "Actually, this might work out better.

What time did you set the meeting?"

"Didn't you hear what I said, Basile?" "Yes. You said, their house tomorrow. And I asked you what time."

"This is never going to work."

"It'll work. If you keep your cool and do everything I tell you to do, it'll work."

"Maybe you think you know me, Basile, but you don't. Basically I'm a coward. When it comes to choices, I always think of myself first."

Good. That's good. Think of yourself. If you leave me in the lurch, or choke up and blow the sting, think of yourself in jail for a very long time."

Gregory moaned forlornly."Even if something goes wrong that's not my fault, you'll probably blame me."

"No, I won't. I promise," Burke told him, meaning it."No matter how this goes down, you'll walk away free and clear."

"Free and clear? From Pinkie Duvall?" Gregory snorted scornfully.

"I nearly shit bricks just calling his house on the telephone. I remember my folks talking about him around the dinner table when I was still in grade school. He's a freaking legend, one of the most powerful men in this town, if not the most powerful." "I know all about him."

"So then you know he's a damn scary character. It's rumored that he's had people killed if they crossed him."

"It's more than rumor."

Gregory's jaw dropped open with incredulity."Yet you expect me to walk into his house impersonating a priest, meet his wife face to face, and take money from her?"

"Unless you want to go to jail and become the sweetheart of a guy everybody calls Bull."

"You've used up that marker. I went to the cathedral with you and acted out my scene. Brilliantly, I might add. That squared us." "I never said that," Burke countered blandly."I said that if you agreed to play Father Gregory, I'd let you off the hook."

"I assumed I only had to pose as Father Gregory that one time."

"Well, you assumed wrong. What time tomorrow?"

"You're crazy as hell, Basile."

"Probably."

Gregory had him there. This plan of his was crazy. Dramatic, yes.

Effective, assuredly. Crazy, definitely.

Since hearing Mrs. Duvall's confession, he'd thought the plan through from every angle. There was always a damn good chance that something would go awry, but he was taking every precaution against failure.

He'd vacated his apartment and, using a false name, had moved into another place that was equally as disreputable. He'd ditched the Toyota for an older model.

When in the new car, he kept an eye on his rearview mirror. On foot, he checked frequently to see if Bardo, or someone of his ilk, was tailing him. He was fairly certain no one was.

Had Duvall called off his dogs? After Burke declined his job offer, Duvall might have dismissed him as insignificant. Maybe he was too cocksure of himself to fear retribution from a bummed-out, broke, besmirched ex-cop like Burke Basile. If he did expect reprisal, he would be looking for it to be violent.

That's why this just might work.

"Why can't another cop play the priest?" Gregory whined."How come an undercover cop can't be Father Gregory?"

"Because you're a better actor than anyone in the division."

Gregory still thought he was participating in a covert police action.

"Well, I quit," he said, taking a stand."I don't want to play Father Gregory anymore. I'd rather go to jail than have Pinkie Duvall after my ass."

Burke bore down on him."If you back out on me now, your skinny ass will be fair game for every pervert in the Orleans Parish jail.

I'll see to it." He now had the younger man backed against the stained wall of the men's room. Teeth clenched, Burke said, "Now, for the last fucking time, Father Gregory, what time tomorrow?"

"What a pleasure it is to meet you, Mrs. Duvall." Gregory James smiled disarmingly as he shook hands with their hostess."Thank you for agreeing to see us."

She glanced beyond him to the second priest."Uh, this is Father Kevin," Gregory stammered."My colleague and cofounder of Jenny's House."

Burke had chosen his pseudonym in honor of Kev Stuart, which seemed appropriate.

"Thank you both for coming," she said."I'm flattered that you want to enlist my help."

The solarium into which the butler had shown them overlooked the rear lawn and afforded a clear view of the gazebo. Looking at it, Burke remarked, "You have a beautiful estate, Mrs. Duvall."

He wasn't worried about her recognizing his voice. In the confessional he'd spoken in a muffled whisper and had faked several coughs Nor would she make a connection between the spit-and polished Father Kevin and the casually dressed, mustachioed man in the baseball cap who'd retrieved her forgotten sack of oranges at the outdoor coffee bar.

"Thank you. Please sit down."

He and Gregory sat side by side on a wicker settee. She sat in a chair facing them and asked if they would like coffee.

Father Gregory smiled at the butler."I'd love some. Decaf, please."

"Same for me," Burke said.

He withdrew, leaving the priests alone with Mrs. Duvall. And her bodyguard.

The man's wide shoulders extended beyond the back of his chair and the wicker seemed to be straining to support him. His dark suit was incongruous with the sunny garden room. He looked as out of place as a monkey wrench in a floral arrangement.

Burke had experienced a heart flurry when he entered the solarium and saw the familiar bodyguard. Mrs. Duvall hadn't recognized him, but the man was supposedly trained to be on the alert. Burke had given him a pleasant smile and a slight nod. He'd grunted a greeting, his eyes registering no recognition. Whatever Duvall was paying the dullard, it was too much.

Mrs. Duvall addressed him as Errol."You don't have to stay. I'm sure you'll be bored with this discussion."

He thought it over, gave each of the priests a look that could have passed for a stern warning, then stood."Okay. But I'll be right outside if you need me."

When he left, Father Gregory turned to their hostess."Is he always like that? Or is he sometimes dour?"

She laughed spontaneously. Burke silently thanked Gregory for putting her at ease. So far the young man was doing an exceptional acting job.

They chitchatted easily until the butler, whom she referred to as Roman, returned with a large silver tray and set it on a wheeled cart, from which Mrs. Duvall herself served them coffee and small cakes frosted with pastel icing. Her motions were fluid, effortless, natural. She handled the heavy silver coffeepot as gracefully as she handled her spoon, with which she stirred a single dollop of cream into her coffee.

"I'm anxious to hear all about Jenny's House."

Father Gregory cleared his throat and inched forward on his seat "The concept came to me ..."

Burke tuned out as Gregory launched into a flowery speech about a homeless children's refuge that didn't exist. While pretending to hinge on every word coming from Father Gregory's mouth, he watched Remy Duvall's face. She listened intently, responding as anticipated to the buzz words Burke had told Gregory to incorporate. Her questions were insightful and intelligent. When Gregory retold the fictitious story of little Jenny, tears came to her eyes "It's so tragic."

Because her sadness seemed sincere, it would be easy to start feeling badly about this gross manipulation of her emotions. But then Burke reminded himself of how cozy she'd been with Bardo in the gazebo.

Any woman who would willingly consort with Bardo didn't deserve compassion.

He set his cup and saucer on the table at his elbow and abruptly stood up."Pardon me for interrupting, Father Gregory, but I need to be excused."

Gregory swiveled his head around so fast his neck popped. He looked at Burke with bald panic. They hadn't rehearsed this part.

It wasn't in the script. Burke had omitted it intentionally because he hadn't wanted to increase Gregory's anxiety. Since he seemed to be comfortable in his role-playing, Burke felt he could safely leave Gregory alone with Mrs. Duvall for a few minutes, which was all he needed "There's a powder room behind the stairs in the entry," she told him.

"Thank you."

"Would you like Errol to show you?"

"No, thanks. I'll find it."

He strolled out of the solarium, but once he'd cleared the doorway, he pulled up short and looked for the bodyguard. He wasn't just outside the room as he'd said he would be. Instead, Burke found him in an adjacent den, watching television. His back was to the door.

Apparently he didn't consider Father Gregory and Father Kevin much of a threat.

Burke went into the powder room and closed the door, but only for a moment. Coming out, he took the stairs two at a time, wincing whenever one of the treads creaked.

The first door past the landing opened into another small bathroom.

Three seconds max, and he was out.

How many servants were in the house? He had no way of knowing, but a safe guess was several. At any moment, he might bump into a militant housekeeper demanding to know what the holy hell the holy father was doing snooping around Mr. Duvall's house. She would raise a ruckus, which would summon Errol, who would restrain him until Pinkie arrived.

By this time tomorrow, his body would be a buffet for carnivorous fish grazing on the bottom of the Gulf.

He opened the second door along the hallway and found what he was looking for a grand bedroom with separate baths on either side and a wide balcony overlooking the front lawn.

Burke knew nothing about antiques, but each piece of furniture in the room looked like the genuine article. Drug money would go a long way at highbrow auctions. One of the pieces, a cheval glass in the corner that stood at least twelve feet tall, reflected a man wearing unnecessary eyeglasses and the trappings of a priest."You're way over the edge on this one, Basile," he muttered.

He peered into what was obviously Pinkie's dressing room, but the maid had been there since the master of the house left that morning Everything was in order. Nothing was lying out.

In the bedroom, the nightstands were easily distinguishable.

Pinkie slept on her left side. On his nightstand were a pair of reading glasses a copy of Newsweek, and a cordless telephone. Burke checked it for a number, but the plastic sleeve that held the label provided by the telephone company was empty. Probably an ultraprivate, unlisted number.

He opened the drawer, hoping to discover a personal telephone directory, a journal, a bankbook. But Pinkie was too smart to have anything in his nightstand drawer except a bottle of Maalox, a leaky ballpoint pen, another pair of glasses, and a notepad on which nothing was written.

On Mrs. Duvall's nightstand was a rosary, a bowl of potpourri, and a crystal carafe of water with the small, inverted glass capping it.

In the drawer, nothing except a box of note cards. But there was no address book. Whom did she write to?

How long had he been out of the solarium? Suspiciously long to be taking a leak? What if, during a commercial, Errol poked his head into the solarium and, seeing only one priest, asked where the other one was?

Get on with it.

He crossed into Mrs. Duvall's dressing room. The maid hadn't been here, not since Mrs. Duvall had dressed for her meeting with Father Gregory and Father Kevin. A blouse was lying across the satin vanity stool.