Night Moves: Dream Man/After the Night (26 page)

“Was that common knowledge?” she asked. “Were there any jealous husbands around?”

He shrugged, and glanced again toward the front of the store. “Maybe the mayor knew, but Guy donated a lot of money to his campaigns, so I doubt Lowell Foster would have kicked up very much if he’d known Yolanda was . . . uh, collecting donations.” He smirked, and Faith thought how much she disliked him.

“Thanks for the information,” she said, and turned to go.

“You won’t come here again?” he asked anxiously.

She paused and gave him a considering look. “Maybe not,” she said. “Call me if you think of any more names.” Then she walked briskly from the store, not even glancing at Mrs. Morgan on the way out.

Two names, plus the possibility of the unknown waitress. It was a beginning. What intrigued her, though, was the
mention of Guy’s best friend, Alex Chelette.
He
would likely have the answers to most of her questions.

The Chelettes were one of the old, monied families in the parish—not on a level with the Rouillards, but then neither was anyone else. She knew the name, but couldn’t dredge up any memories of them as people. She had been only fourteen when she’d left, and more withdrawn than most, keeping to herself as much as possible. She had paid attention only to those who had direct contact with her family, and as far as she could remember, she had never met any of the Chelettes. Alex was still likely to be around, though; the case of Guy Rouillard aside, old money tended to remain in one place.

She walked down to the pay phone at the end of the parking lot and looked up the Chelettes. The residence was listed as “Alexander Chelette, atty.” Below it was the number for “Chelette and Anderson, Attorneys at Law.”

Thinking that now was as good a time as any, she fed in a quarter and dialed the law office. A musical voice answered on the second ring.

Faith said, “My name is Faith Hardy. Could Mr. Chelette see me today?”

There was a tiny pause that told Faith her name had been recognized, then the musical voice said, “He’s in court all morning, but he can see you this afternoon at one-thirty, if that’s convenient.”

“It is. Thank you.” As she hung up, Faith wondered if the musical voice belonged to Andrea Wallice, who had been Mr. Chelette’s secretary when it had all happened, or if this was a different one.

She had almost three hours to kill, unless she wanted to drive home and come back later. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that the slice of toast she’d eaten at six-thirty had long since vanished. She wondered if she would be served in any of the restaurants in town, or if Gray’s influence had extended there, too. She shrugged. No time like the present for finding out.

There was a small café on the square. She had never been in it, she thought as she parked almost directly in front of the door. She had never eaten out until she had gone to live
with the Greshams, and they had introduced her to the wonders of restaurants. The thought of them made her smile as she entered the cool, darkened café, and she made a mental note to call them that night. She tried to stay in touch, calling them at least once a month, and it had been almost that long since they last spoke.

Customers seated themselves, so Faith chose the booth at the rear of the café. A pleasant-faced young woman, short and round, bustled up with a menu. “What will you have to drink?”

“Sweet tea.” That the tea would be iced was a given, unless hot tea was specifically requested. The usual choices were merely between sweet and unsweetened.

The waitress darted off to get the tea, and Faith glanced down the selections on the plastic menu. She had just decided on the chicken salad when someone paused beside the booth. “Aren’t you Faith Devlin?”

Faith tensed, wondering if she would be asked to leave. She looked up at the woman standing there. “Yes, I am.” The woman looked vaguely familiar, brown eyes, brown hair, and a square-jawed, dimple-cheeked face. She was smallish, about five foot three, and had the perkiness of a cheerleader.

“I thought so. It’s been a while, but it’s hard to forget hair that color.” The woman smiled. “I’m Halley Bruce—Johnson, now. I was in your class at school.”

“Of course!” As soon as she heard the name, the face clicked in her memory. “I remember you. How are you?” Halley had never been her friend—she hadn’t had any friends—but neither had Halley taken part in any of the cruel teasing Faith had endured. She had been civil, at least.

The expression in her eyes now, however, was downright friendly. “Will you join me?” Faith invited.

“Just for a minute,” Halley said, slipping into the booth opposite Faith. The waitress returned with Faith’s tea, and took the order for her chicken salad. When they were alone again, Halley smiled wryly. “My husband’s folks own this place, and I run it for them. I’m expecting a delivery any minute now, and I’ll have to check it in.”

Since Gray already knew about the agency, there was no
point in not talking about it, so Faith said, “I’m playing hooky. I have a travel agency in Dallas, and I really should have told my manager where I’d be, but I forgot to call before I left the house.”

Social and financial positions established, they smiled at each other as equals. Faith felt a warm rush of pleasure. Even after she had gone to live with the Greshams and attended high school, she hadn’t had any girlfriends; she had still been too wary and withdrawn, too traumatized, to form any friendships. It wasn’t until she had started college that she had made any friends at all, and the casual acceptance of her dorm mates had been a revelation to her. Shy at first, she had quickly bloomed, joyfully participating in the female rituals that had been closed to her as a girl: the all-night gab sessions, the teasing and laughter, the swapping of clothes and makeup, the frenzy of getting ready in the mornings, sharing the bathroom mirror with her roommate. For the first time she had participated in the endless analysis of the murky mystery of men—rather, she had listened, smiling a little at their naïveté. Though at that point many of her dorm mates had already had sex and Faith had still been virgin, she had felt infinitely older, more experienced. They still viewed men through the rosy lenses of romance, while she had no such illusion.

But female friendship had remained a special joy to her, and she looked at Halley Johnson with the hope of finding that trembling within her.

“Where did you move to, when you left?” Halley asked, with a casual note that glossed over the circumstances under which Faith had left Prescott.

“Beaumont, Texas. Then I moved to Austin when I started college, and Dallas afterward.”

Halley sighed. “I’ve never lived anywhere but here, don’t guess I ever will. I used to think about traveling, but then Joel and I got married, and the kids came. We have two,” she said, brightening. “A boy and a girl. With one of each, it seemed like a good time to stop. How about you?”

“I’m a widow,” Faith said, her eyes darkening with the shadow of sadness that she always felt when she thought about Kyle, dying so young and so needlessly. “I married
right out of college, and he died in a car wreck within the year. No kids.”

“That’s rough.” There was genuine sympathy in Halley’s voice. “I’m so sorry. I can only imagine what it would be like to lose Joel. He drives me crazy sometimes, but he’s my rock, always there when I need him.” She was silent a moment, then the smile came back to her face. “What brings you back to Prescott? I can imagine someone leaving Prescott to move to Dallas, but not vice versa.”

“It’s home. I wanted to come back.”

“Well, I don’t want to be nosy or rude, but I would have thought Prescott would be the last place you’d want to live. After what happened, I mean.”

Faith gave her a quick look, but couldn’t see any malice in Halley’s expression, only a certain watchfulness, as if she hadn’t quite made up her mind about Faith.

“It hasn’t been a bowl of cherries,” she replied, and decided she could be as frank as the other woman. “I don’t know if you’ve heard or not, but Gray Rouillard won’t like it if he finds out you’ve served me. I gather he’s put out the word to all the merchants that he doesn’t want them doing business with me.”

“Oh, I’ve heard,” Halley said, and grinned, some of the watchfulness fading. “But I like to make up my own mind about people.”

“I don’t want to cause trouble for you.”

“You won’t. Gray isn’t vindictive.” She paused. “I can see where you might not agree with me. Granted, I wouldn’t want him for an enemy, but he won’t turn mean just because you ate some chicken salad in here.”

“Everyone else in town seems to take him seriously.”

“He has a lot of influence,” Halley agreed.

“But not with you?”

“I didn’t say that. It’s just that I remember you from school. You weren’t like the others. If it had been Jodie, now—she wouldn’t be sitting here waiting for her chicken salad. You’re welcome any time, though.”

“Thanks, but let me know if there’s a problem.”

“I’m not worried about it.” Halley smiled as the waitress set the plate of chicken salad on the table. “If he’d meant to
be a hard-ass about it, he’d have said so. One thing about Gray, you don’t have to second-guess him. He says what he means, and means what he says.”

•  •  •

Alex Chelette’s secretary was still Andrea Wallice, according to the nameplate on her desk. The woman sitting behind the desk was comfortably fiftyish, her face wearing every one of the years, her gray hair styled in a short, neat bob. Looking at her, trying to subtract a dozen years, Faith still couldn’t imagine her as the type of woman Guy Rouillard would pursue. His taste had run toward the flamboyant, not this tidy woman with the openly curious gaze.

“You look like your mother,” Andrea finally said, her head tilting a bit to one side as she studied Faith’s face. “A few differences, but for the most part you could be her, especially in your coloring.”

“Did you know her?” Faith asked.

“Only by sight.” She gestured to the sofa. “Have a seat. Alex hasn’t come back from lunch yet.”

Just as Faith sat down, the door opened and a slim, good-looking man entered. He was wearing a suit, an oddity in Prescott, unless one happened to be an attorney who had been at the courthouse all morning. He glanced toward Faith and visibly started, then relaxed, and a smile touched his mouth. “You must be Faith. God knows, you couldn’t be anyone else, unless Renee discovered the Fountain of Youth.”

“That’s what I thought,” Andrea said, turning to him, and for a moment the expression in her eyes was unguarded. Faith quickly looked down. From what she had just seen, she very much doubted that Andrea had ever been involved with Guy, because she was very much in love with her boss. She wondered if Mr. Chelette knew, and just as quickly decided that he didn’t. There was no hint of awareness on his part.

“Come in,” he invited, ushering Faith into his office ahead of him, and closing the door. “I know we must seem rude, discussing you that way. I’m sorry. It’s just that the resemblance is so pronounced, and yet, on second glance, the differences are obvious.”

“Everyone seems to have that reaction when they see me for the first time,” she admitted, and smiled at him. It was very easy to smile at Alex Chelette. He was the type of man whom age refined; always slim, he would pare down even more with the passing years. His dark hair had grayed at the sides, and there were lines at the corners of his gray eyes, but he easily looked to be in his mid-forties, rather than his fifties. His scent was light green, as fresh as newly cut grass.

“Sit down, please,” he said, and settled into his own chair. “What can I do for you today?”

Faith seated herself on the leather sofa. “Actually, I came on personal reasons, and I realize now I shouldn’t have taken up your work time—”

He shook his head, smiling. “It’s my pleasure. Now, tell me what’s bothering you. Is it Gray? I tried to get him to leave you alone, but he’s very protective of his mother and sister, and he doesn’t want them upset.”

“I understand Gray’s position very well,” Faith said dryly. “That isn’t why I’m here.”

“Oh?”

“I wanted to ask you some questions about Guy Rouillard. You were his best friend, weren’t you?”

He gave her a faint smile. “I thought so. We grew up together.”

Should she tell him that Guy hadn’t, after all, left with Renee? She toyed with the idea, then discarded it. As friendly as he seemed, she couldn’t forget that he was an old family friend of the Rouillards. She had to assume that anything she told him would go straight to Gray.

“I’m curious about him,” she finally said. “That night wrecked my family, just as it did Gray’s. What was he like? I know he wasn’t faithful to my mother any more than he was to his wife, so why would he all of a sudden walk away from everything, his family, his business, to be with her?”

“I don’t think you really want me to answer that,” he replied wryly. “To put it as politely as I can, Renee was a fascinating woman, at least to men. Physically she was . . . well, Guy was very responsive to Renee’s sensuality.”

“But he was already having an affair with her. There wasn’t any reason for them to leave.”

Alex shrugged, a very Gallic gesture. “I’ve never understood it myself.”

“Why didn’t he just get a divorce?”

“Again, I don’t have an answer for that. Perhaps because of his religion; Guy wasn’t a regular at mass, but he felt more strongly about religion than you might have expected. Perhaps he thought it would be easier on Noelle if he didn’t divorce her, if he just handed everything over to Gray and left. I simply don’t know.”

“Hand everything over to Gray?” Faith repeated. “What do you mean?”

“I’m sorry,” he said gently. “I can’t divulge details of my clients’ business dealings.”

“No, of course not.” Quickly she backtracked. “Do you remember anything else about that summer? Who else Guy was seeing?”

He looked startled. “Why would you want to know?”

“Like I said, I have an interest in the man. Because of him, I haven’t seen my mother since that day. Was he likeable? Did he have any honor, or was he just a tomcat?”