French Quarter (6 page)

He ran his eyes over the cases of books that covered every available wall space. “I am, yes.”

“Do you let anyone know you?”

“Errol knew me.”

He saw her consider reminding him that Errol was dead. “How about Amelia’s mother?”

Four and a half years and a stray mention of Elise still had the power to cast him into a black place he wanted to forget. “My wife died.”

Celina turned very red. “I’m sorry. I had no right to ask something so personal.”

“Why did you come here?”

Her eyes flickered away. “You own a big share in that new riverboat.”

“I do.” Whatever she wanted, she was finding it hard to get to.

“I thought all the offshore gambling was—well, you know.”

“Do I?”

“They say you’ve got to have connections to that family—the criminal one—to be involved with anything like that.”

Jack sipped his warm wine. “Is that what they say?”

She nodded.

“Well, what do
they
know? You can see what my life is. I’m a quiet man who looks after his daughter and his investments.”

“You and Errol went into Dreams fifty-fifty.” She stuck her nose into her glass but didn’t actually drink any wine. “At the beginning it was almost a hundred percent your money because Errol didn’t have it. He told me that. Then he paid you back but you wanted to be involved, so you’ve kept a half interest. I expect you do that for income tax purposes.”

“I probably do.” Watching her fascinated him. And listening to her. She thought her way along out loud, almost as if she didn’t expect any answers. “What’s your interest in Dreams, Celina?”

“I love it. I love working for children. It’s everything I ever wanted to do. I’ve got a marketing background, which helps. And to be frank, the only good thing that came out of the pageant stuff was that it opens doors for me. People want to see me up close.” She surprised him by giggling. “By the time they get over wondering what the big deal is, they’ve agreed to donate a round-the-world cruise, or a new Mercedes, or liposuction and a face-lift.”

Jack had never seen this lighter side of her. She electrified him—for an instant. He deliberately studied his hands. “So you’re good at asking for things. What else are you good at?”

Their eyes met. Celina looked away first, and color crept up her neck. “I’ll be very good at running things—at least until everything settles down again. Errol would have wanted business as usual. We’ve got a lot in the works, including another auction.”

“At your parents’ house?”

“That was never my idea.”

“Whose was it?”

She moved in the chair and crossed her legs. Tonight she wore a loose black linen dress that settled several inches above her knees, and her short curls were slicked severely against her head and back from her face. No makeup to speak of. Great bones.

Great legs.

He noted that she avoided clothes that drew attention to a figure he knew from photographs was spectacular. Maybe he was old-fashioned, but he approved of that.

“My parents have a lot of connections. To rich people—bored rich people who can afford to spend more than something’s worth just for the kicks. Then, a lot of them like to see their name on contributor lists. I’m not saying they aren’t nice people, only that they’re the kind of people we need and my mother and father know them. Mama and Daddy also have the kind of home that lends itself to entertaining—entertaining the way Errol thought it should be done. Graciously.”

He decided not to press her to say her parents had pushed for their house for the purpose, or that they kept their financial noses above water with the money they earned from foundation projects.

“You didn’t come here tonight to give me a rundown on things I already know.”

“No, I didn’t.” She popped up out of the chair and paced, rolling the glass between her palms. She wandered to the window and stood looking out into the darkness.

“Please don’t stand in front of the windows,” he said automatically.

She jumped, took several steps back, and stared at him, aghast. “Why?”

Because it’s a good way to get shot.
He stood too, and shrugged. “Just an old phobia. Don’t mind me. I never liked the idea of being seen when I couldn’t see.”

“It’s because of what happened when you were a kid, isn’t it?”

“You haven’t learned to figure out what subjects to avoid, have you?”

“Sorry. It’s been quite a day. I guess my instincts aren’t functioning too well.”

She’d feel good to the touch.

Where had that come from? He bowed his head. He knew where it came from. His last, carefully chosen female companion had gotten too serious and he’d done what he always did, cut the cord. And that had been too long ago for a man with his kind of drive.

“How long have you lived here?” she asked.

“About four years. Why?”

“I didn’t think anyone could get one of these unless…well, I know they’re difficult to come by.”

“Unless they’ve got connections? I have.” She was wondering if what they said about Jack and the Giavanelli family was true. “You just have to know some of the right people.”

“And have the right kind of money,” she told him.

“You don’t believe in subtlety, do you?”

“I didn’t take you for a man who needed pussyfooted fawning, Jack. Was I wrong?”

“No.” In fact, he almost liked her for her directness. “Ι really will need to get back to my daughter shortly. We ought to get to the point, Celina.”

She tipped her glass, barely touched the wine to her lips, coughed, and held the glass out for more.

Jack raised his brows and added a few drops.

“I’ve never been good at guessing games,” she said. “Or uncertainty. I can work as hard as Ι have to work, but until we find out what provisions Errol made for his death, I’m adrift. Sort of. Ι can run things just fine. I’ll need some help. That won’t be hard to find. What Ι need to know now is where I stand and, since you were Errol’s best friend, and you helped him get started with Dreams, Ι thought you might have some thoughts on how he’d want me to continue.”

Jack’s courtly skills were rusty. Since Elise’s death, his relationships with women had been selected to avoid the kinds of situations that would require champagne and roses. Sensing that Celina was a woman who might respond to the gentlemanly arts his mother had started to teach him—and Elise had made him want to practice naturally—he put a hand under her elbow and gave her a serious sideways glance. “Errol always said you were his right hand, and his left. I did suggest there ought to be a bigger staff, but he held out.”

“He held out because he wanted to spend the minimum of funds on administration. And since we confined our self to New Orleans rather than trying to go national, we managed very well. The operation is simple, Jack. I go after the kind of glamorous donations I know will pull people into an auction—and they do. Apart from Errol’s running expenses…” She choked up so suddenly, Jack got the feeling she hadn’t expected it.

Awkwardly patting her back, he let her cry. He produced a handkerchief and pressed it into her hands. She sobbed for only a couple of minutes, then sniffed and turned her back on him while she collected herself.

“Take a few days off,” he said. “You can’t expect to jump right back in after somethin’ like this.”

“We have things in the works,” she said indistinctly. “Time to spare isn’t something we ever have. The children we work with certainly don’t have any.”

“You never met Errol’s boy, did you?” Jason Petrie had been a young, too-small version of his father. “Of course, you wouldn’t have. Errol idolized that boy.”

“Like you idolize your daughter.”

The analogy made his skin cold. “Like that, yes. Jason had an autoimmune disorder. They put him in one of those tents, but somethin’ went wrong and they lost him. Errol just about lived at the hospital. He hated it that there were kids who almost never had a visitor.”

“I know.”

He just bet she did. “You knew Errol very well, didn’t you, Celina?”

“Yes, I did. He was the first man I ever met who didn’t try to put the make on me.”

So she said.
“Errol had a hard time of it for some years, but he beat the bad stuff.”

“You bet he did. He dedicated his life to helping other people—helping children. They became his, and their joy was his. He was a saint.”

Jack didn’t say what he thought, that he considered that a bit rash. “I would be more than happy to hire someone to help you with the day-to-day runnin’ of things. Do you think you’d be comfortable takin’ over as liaison with the hospital and parents?”

She was silent for a moment, and he knew he didn’t imagine the chill that entered the room. “I’m comfortable taking over everything.”

This was something else he’d been afraid of. “I wouldn’t expect you to do that. It’s too much for one person. Too much for two. You need someone to deal with your administrative tasks. That’ll free you up to concentrate on what you do best. Charm the people.”

“I’m not just charming, Jack. I’ve got a mind. Errol made sure I could do his job if necessary.”

“You and Errol were very close.”

“So you keep reminding me, and we were. But not the way you think.”

“What way do 1 think?”

She colored again. Blushing suited her. “You think there was some romantic attachment between Errol and me. There wasn’t. You can choose to believe that or not—I can’t make you. But it’s true.”

He shouldn’t want to believe it quite as much as he did. “It isn’t my business.”

“But you keep alluding to it anyway. Look, I came here out of politeness. I know you have money in Dreams, but I also know you aren’t the kind of man who’s interested in a hands-on involvement. I’m ready to assume responsibility, but I do need some help, and I’ll hire it.”

“You do that,” he said, thinking fast. “You’ll be able to stay on in Royal Street, if that’s what you want to do.”

She faced him again. Up close she was translucent. Her mouth was the full-lipped, naturally slightly puckered type that made a man think thoughts he hadn’t planned on.

“The Royal Street house was Errol’s. He owned it.”

Jack owned it—he’d bought it when Errol showed signs of losing it, and Errol had been making payments to Jack for years.

“There shouldn’t be any hitch to keeping the headquarters where they are,” he told her.

“I never knew anything about his extended family,” Celina said. “He never mentioned them. But I expect they may want to sell the house.”

“It belongs to me,” he said without looking at her. “I have no plans to sell. Don’t you think it would be a good idea to keep things as status quo as possible? People have an odd way of reacting negatively if they think there’s anythin’ shaky going on.

“The house belongs to you?”

He should have expected her to be shocked. “Errol had some problems—financial type—some years back. Jason’s illness just about wiped him out. He sold to me and then started buying it back again. That house has been in his family since the late eighteen hundreds.”

“Jack.” She gave him her full, more than a little disconcerting attention. “I was no part of whatever happened to Errol. You believe that, don’t you?”

He said, “Yes,” more because it was what she needed to hear than because he absolutely believed it.

“When will we hear the results of the coroner’s findings?”

“When they’re ready to give them to us. You can be certain they’re as busy as little bees right now, flitting back and forth seeing what they can dig up on each of us, and on Errol.”

“I’m boring,” she said. “There’s nothing to dig up on me.”

The timing was wrong for him to tell her he found her anything but boring, but wished he didn’t. “Errol had a past,” he said. “I’m not talking out of school when I say that. You know some of it yourself. My so-called past isn’t my own, but it’s plenty interestin’, and if they decide to get into it all over again, we’ll see stuff no one wants to see again—least of all me.”

“When people are reminded of what made Errol want to start Dreams, they’ll forget the other.”

He wished he was as certain as she was. “Maybe.”

“Oh, I just know they will. People are good at heart, especially when it comes to helping children.”

There would never be an easy time to tell her what he’d decided—what he’d promised Errol several years back. “I’ll be taking an active part in Dreams, Celina. That was Errol’s wish.”

“An active part?”

“A certain amount of time in Royal Street. And...Celina, I’m going to be taking over Errol’s place. More or less. I’m hoping that if we get you more help you’ll agree to take some of the routine things off my plate. I’m not a man who enjoys public appearances, although I will make them when you consider them necessary.” And from the way she was looking at him, he doubted there would be many of those.

She sat down again, this time on the cane chair he’d vacated, and scrutinized the room from the old Aubusson carpet that had belonged to his grandmother on his mother’s side to the green-painted wooden ceiling fan that wobbled on its rod. He supposed you’d call the decor ancient and modern and the color scheme mud, but he liked it. Celina’s sleek presentation didn’t fit here, but then, neither did Celina.

“Are you goin’ to give me any thoughts on what I just told you?” he asked.

“When I can stop my brain from going in circles I’ll give it a shot.”

“Fair enough. Any estimates on how long that might take?”

“Look.” She fastened him with a hard stare. “This isn’t easy for either of us. You’ve just dropped a whole new concept on me. I’m used to being pretty much autonomous. I don’t want to... no, that would sound like some sort of ultimatum. I hate ultimatums. Do you honestly think we could work together?”

“I think we’re going to try.”

“Why?”

“Why are we going to try to work together? You already said—”

“No. Why are you going to do this at all? You’ve got your fingers in a lot of pies. And this isn’t exactly your kind of thing, is it?”

Jack began to wish he did keep some hard liquor around. “First of all, you don’t have any idea how many pies I’ve got my fingers in—as you put it. Secondly, how the…how do you know what is or isn’t my kind of thing?”