Kiss Them Goodbye (16 page)

M
artin, Martin and Martin occupied quarters entered through an archway to a cool, leafy courtyard just off Chartres on Toulouse in the Quarter.

Vivian knew the place too well. The green wrought-iron gates that separated the hot and bustling street from the courtyard stood open. At night they would be locked to keep out both revelers and those who called the alleys and doorways of New Orleans home.

“Is this a good idea?” she asked Spike. “You never really explained what you hoped to find.”

Dressed in a navy-blue shirt with buttoned-down collar and tan chinos, the man beside her seemed very different from the Toussaint lawman. He wore loafers. The shirt cuffs were turned back from wrists where hair picked up the afternoon sun. He looked at her with concern and she wondered if he were afraid she’d get in the way of his plans for the lawyers’ offices.

She didn’t expect him to hook one side of her hair behind her ear and she flinched at his touch. Spike
eased her in front of him and settled his mouth on her forehead.

Vivian blinked. It wouldn’t be hard to stand here, a little too hot, perhaps, aware of the pungent odors of old, mossy stones, stale booze and the sweet perfume of jasmine and ginger, and decide to forget about murder.

His hands were around her waist and she could feel the beat of his heart.

People brushed by, laughing, shouting, singing along with boom boxes, but Vivian didn’t care. She slid her hands up his arms and across his shoulders. “Do we have any choices left?” she asked him. “Could we forget anythin’ terrible happened and just hope it all works out without us doin’ anything?”

“No. But I wish we could.” Spike looked down into her face. He surely wished they could because he saw nothing but more danger and trouble ahead. “I didn’t say I was hopin’ to find something we can hold in our hands,
cher.
Or maybe I did but I didn’t mean it quite the way it sounded. Like I told you, I don’t buy Gary Legrain’s talk about tryin’ to find clues in Guy’s records or somewhere around Rosebank. Legrain wants to keep you and Charlotte as clients because he figures you’ll be worth it again once things iron out.”

“I figured that,” Vivian said. “But I do think he’s kind. He wants to do the right things to help us.”

Why, oh why
? “Ooh, ya ya, I need to keep thinking straight.” He tilted his head for another angle on her. “I…I want this to be over and I want to quit worrying about every little thing that comes into my head.” He’d almost said he mistrusted Legrain’s reasons for being quite so attentive, or rather, he had a good idea what some of them were and didn’t like them. The man didn’t look at Vivian as if he thought of her as nothing but a client.

“Do you think we should call this off today?” she asked.

“Uh-uh. Somethin’s naggin’ at me. Martin, Martin and Martin. No Legrain. He told me he’d been with the firm eight years. Wouldn’t you think he’d be a partner by now?”

Her magenta blouse and white slacks showed off a body with the power to distract Spike. While she thought about his question, he made the mistake of studying her mouth. Then he began to feel it beneath his and deliberately looked over her head to distract himself.

“The other two Martins are Louis’s sons,” she said finally. “I’ve only met them socially. I never thought about whether or not Gary’s a partner. Maybe he is and they haven’t changed the nameplate over there.”

“What about the letterhead?” He already knew the answer.

Vivian frowned. “I’m not sure. No, his name isn’t on it but he’s never had a reason to write to Mama as far as I know. Why would he before now? Anyway, he could have his own stationery.”

Spike shrugged. They both knew otherwise. “Charlotte promised to call Gary after we left and let him know we’d be stopping by just to visit.”

“She never said anything. I thought we’d just see if he was in and had a few minutes.” She gave him a withering look. “You and Mama knew you ought to ask me what I thought before arranging that. You don’t think twice about doing something behind a person’s back.”

“I didn’t think of making a song and dance about it.” He hadn’t. “But now I think it was a real good idea since you look like you’d back out if you could.”

“I still can. And that would mean you couldn’t go snoopin’ around in there, either, ’cause I’m your ticket in.”

“Absolutely true,” he said, although she was wrong if
she really thought he wouldn’t go in anyway. “Wouldn’t want to push you into anythin’. After all, you only asked me to do the work you don’t think Bonine will get to. But if you’ve changed your mind we might as well get along back.”

Vivian looked at her feet and considered, if only for a second, landing him just a little kick to one of his solid shins. Instead, she did what she preferred to do anyway and gave him a good poke in the chest.

She shouldn’t have done it. The moment he staggered backward, clutching a handful of his shirt, moaning, Vivian knew she should not have poked him.

“Stop it,” she hissed. “You’re making fools of both of us.”

Apparently stumbling over his feet, he wove his way back, this time managing to seem drunk. Falling on her neck and hugging her tight enough to wind her he muttered in her ear, “Learn a lesson, sweet Vivian. If you say things you don’t really mean, I’ll call your bluff every time. Are we goin’ home or goin’ in? Your call. Of course, I’ll be sorry if you decide you don’t want me workin’ for you after all.”

Vivian pushed him away, but she smiled and the rush of feeling to her throat was close to pure happiness. She loved being with this man. “I’m sorry for getting cold feet,” she told him. “Everything feels so strange but I want you, Spike, you know I do.”

Not a hint of humor remained in his expression. “Do you?”

Her tummy did odd things. “I meant I want you to keep on working for me.” When he turned the corners of his mouth down, she added, “You know how I feel about the other, but I’m confused. I know I’ve given you the impression I don’t have any reservations and maybe I don’t. Give me more time.”

It had been worth taking the chance, Spike thought,
shaking her shoulder gently. She might have fallen for it and given him the nod on the personal angle. Not that she’d exactly turned him down and the day wasn’t over yet.

“Let’s go in,” she said. “I’m still not sure what you want to accomplish but, hey, I’ll find out.”

He wasn’t about to make a big deal out of his having nothing but a hunch and a hunch that could be based in part on male possessiveness.

Vivian caught his sleeve and he stopped. “Something has bothered me about Louis’s death, other than the horror of it. His sons didn’t rush down to Rosebank. They haven’t even made a call. I don’t think that’s normal.”

“It’s not.” He was still getting accustomed to the thought of Louis’s sons. “But families have different ways of dealing with crises.”

The second floor entrance to Martin, Martin and Martin took them up a flight of iron steps to a gallery. On the ground floor, on either side of the archway, were the backs of an antique store and a gumbo shop on Toulouse. The shiny painted doors and bright windows of residences occupied the rest of the spaces. A stone dolphin spouted tinkling water in a small corner fountain.

“You think all this belongs to one owner?” Spike indicated the entire property surrounding them. “Probably leased out, huh?”

“I remember my daddy tellin’ me the Martins owned the whole thing,” Vivian said.

A short distance from the highly polished oak doors of the legal firm, two women sat at a round table, smoking and laughing. They spoke Cajun, which Vivian didn’t understand enough to translate, but the way they eyed Spike did hint at their subject.

Spike’s finger on the bell produced a harsh ringing from inside and a woman’s voice over the intercom. “Yes?” One of those wordy types.

Spike announced them and they were buzzed in without any comment.

The discreetly lit interior felt rich and graceful. Vivian wondered if this building and its contents had been spared in the 1877 fire or if the Martins had accomplished a particularly perfect renovation and spent a fortune on antiques to fit the period.

A woman sat behind an old French desk and watched them approach. “I’ve let Mr. Legrain’s assistant know you’re here,” she said, and Vivian decided she wasn’t rude, but uptight. She glanced repeatedly over her shoulder. The loss of Louis must be a blow to the staff.

“Tate Barnes,” said a blond woman in a big hurry who rushed toward them over oriental carpets and glowing wood floors. She shook hands with both of them. “I remember you, of course, Ms. Patin. Come with me to Mr. Legrain’s waiting room. He’s got unexpected visitors but I hope they won’t be with him long.” Like the receptionist, Tate Barnes showed nervousness.

Situated at the end of a long corridor, about at a corner of the building, Vivian figured, Gary’s suite was more sparsely furnished than anything they’d seen so far, but no less tasteful.

“Mr. Legrain asked them to come,” Tate whispered. “They never said they would. Just showed up. Do make yourselves comfortable.”

Spike barely stopped himself from asking who “they” were.

Before he and Vivian could sit, the door to Gary’s office opened a crack and from the way the highly polished brass handle wiggled there had to be someone holding the other end.

“I’ll get back to you,” a man’s voice said, an angry man.

Whatever the response, Spike couldn’t hear it.

Tate flitted about, straightening papers on her desk,
glancing anxiously at her boss’s office and then at Spike and Vivian.

“We don’t know who the woman is, but if it’s true my father left her a big chunk of his estate, we’ll make sure she doesn’t collect a penny,” the man at the door announced. “I don’t care what my father may have said, make sure you forget every word. You know who you work for now.”

Spike felt sorry for Gary, who was almost certainly on the wrong end of this.

More inaudible conversation.

“This isn’t the time, Gary. You know you don’t have to worry about anythin’ like that. You’re fam’ly. You don’t need a fancy title to prove how important you are around here. By the way, we’ll want to be here when you interview any new hires. Gotta run.”

Two men of average height emerged from Gary’s office and left the door open. They were both thin, dark-haired and wore light-colored suits. So similar in appearance were they that Spike assumed they were twins. Each had piercing eyes and a wide mouth.

“Well, if it isn’t Vivian Patin,” one of them said, approaching her with an outstretched hand. “It’s been too long. Terrible loss you and your mother have suffered, terrible.”

Vivian shook his hand and said, “Thank you, Edward. I don’t know what to say about Louis. Such a horrible shock. Are you hearing much from the police?”

Edward looked grave. “They seem to be making very little progress. How unfortunate that such a thing should happen on your doorstep.”

“I’d rather not talk about it,” Edward’s brother said sharply. “Talk accomplishes nothing and it’s all too painful.”

Spike noticed what set the men apart. This one’s nose had obviously been broken more than once.

Vivian turned to Spike and gave an awkward little laugh. “Forgive me, Spike. This is Louis’s son, Edward Martin, and this,” she indicated the other man, “is George Martin, Edward’s twin. They were frequent customers at Chez Charlotte.”

Edward kissed his fingertips and said, “I mourn the loss of the best food in the Quarter.”

Had Edward Martin commiserated with Charlotte and Vivian’s “terrible loss” of David Patin, or only the restaurant? Spike found the pair overly aggressive.

“Well,” George said, “we mustn’t hold you up when you are obviously here to see Gary. Is he taking good care of you? You do know how much we value your loyalty to the firm?”

“I know.” Vivian felt strange. She hadn’t considered how she would feel when confronted by Louis’s sons.

Gary stood at the threshold of his office now, his watchful gray eyes seriously measuring the scene in front of him.

The Martin brothers took their leave and for many seconds after they left there was silence, then Gary said to Vivian and Spike, “How long were you out here?” He turned his attention to Tate. “Kindly wait elsewhere until I page you. I have no more appointments this afternoon. Please make sure I’m not disturbed.”

As soon as she was gone, Gary reiterated his question about how long Spike and Vivian had been there.

“A few minutes,” she told him.

Spike said, “Long enough to figure out that you and the Martin boys may be fam’ly as they put it, but I don’t think you’re buddies.”

Gary turned on his heel. “Please come into my office.”

When they’d followed him inside he closed the door. “Sit down.” He waited while Vivian sat in a stiff-backed embroidered chair with gilt legs before he dropped onto a couch that looked to be the same sort of style but cov
ered with different fabric. Spike took a second chair that matched Vivian’s.

The seating area took up one side of an L-shaped room while Gary’s office, including a red lacquer desk, filled the other. This was indeed a corner of the building. Of four tall, narrow windows, two would face Chartres while the other two probably looked out on St. Peters Street, possibly with a view of St. Louis Cathedral. These were expensive digs.

“There’s hot coffee,” Gary said, starting to get up again, “or perhaps you’d prefer something stronger.”

“No, thank you,” Vivian said and Spike echoed her refusal.

“Charlotte called,” Gary said. He constantly glanced around the room and the toe of one foot tapped up and down. “Glad you wanted to stop by.” He gave Spike a less than “glad” stare.

“Spike was kind enough to give me a lift to New Orleans today,” Vivian told him and hurried on to say, “he’s got things to do here, too.”

Spike could see that his presence was likely to muzzle anything useful Gary might have said to Vivian on her own. “Vivian,” he said. “I can wait for you in Jackson Square if you and Gary would be more comfortable.”

He saw panic in her eyes and almost swore aloud at his own stupidity. What was she supposed to say when it hadn’t been her idea to come in the first place?